Cowgirls of the Commonwealth
by Winding Warpath
Summary: What the heck was Nora Haley, housewife and newly graduated law student, supposed to do against raiders and deathclaws? Cross-examine them? Give them a paper-cut with her fancy new law degree? Lucky for her, two of the toughest, rootenist, tootenist cowgirls east OR west of the Colorado happened to be in town… Fallout 4 with Cass and the Courier showing us all how it's done.
1. Go for the Eyes

**Author's Note:** A warning that there's quite a bit of blood and gore here (it is a gory game, after all.) Miniguns are messy. So are deathclaws. There's also a lot of cussing from a _certain_ character. I mean, how else are you going to write Cass?!

 **1 – Go for the Eyes**

What the heck was she doing? What the ever-loving, gosh-darn HECK was she doing?

With a hand planted over her head (shrapnel! There could be falling shrapnel at any time! They had emphasized that stuff in boot!) and her chest and belly scraping against the roof, Nora Haley shimmy-crawled along, wincing at every _ping, pop,_ and _whizz_ that the bullets made as they pockmarked the walls of the building.

From time to time there'd be a buzzing _da-da-drone-_ sound too: the sound of that guy in the trench-coat charging and then firing his bizarre laser-contraption. A little earlier the man had offered Nora a spare laser-musket (or whatever it was called,) but she had not had the _faintest_ clue how to wind or whirligig the weapon, so she had stuck with good old familiar Mr. Ten Millimeter. Thank you very much!

Not that Nora was a crack shot with _that_ weapon either, but at least a few reflexes from boot had come back to her while she had frantically hopped from cover-spot to cover-spot inside the museum, trying not to die. Suppressing fire, then run, then dive behind something, and then repeat. She'd tried, but she hadn't managed to put a single bullet in any of the wacko's (dressed in steel and bits of tire) who liked to do all of their talking with rusty pipe-pistols.

At least she had lured a few into the view of Mr. Trench-Coat up on the balcony, and his laser had turned some of them to ash.

He was the hero here. So why the _heck_ couldn't Mr. Trench-Coat be the one pulling the heroics up here on the roof? Argh!

'None of us know how to operate power armor, miss. Sorry.' What a nice, convenient excuse. And _why_ had she admitted that she knew how to use the armor? She was a lawyer, not a marine! Nate had always been the…

But here she was in any case, looking up at a dusty old suit of T-Whatever power armor, fusion battery-doohickey in her hand. Time to be a hero! Time to show these madhouse future-world-weirdos what a little old-world knowledge could do. She propped herself up on her knees, popping just a bit out of her hidey-spot (the suit of armor made for nice cover), and punched the fusion core into the back of the suit.

Ancient machinery jittered and whirred, and then the armor folded open like origami. A jump, and then a little careful shimmying, and then she was comfortably pressed in. She depressed a button on the inside of the right-hand gauntlet, and then the whole thing went ' _whir-whir, clickity-clickity_ ,' and she was inside a tempered titanium cocoon. Her wrist-computer-thingy shook hands with the armor's onboard electronics, the HUD lit up in a warm, comforting shade of amber, and she started ambling forward.

 _Okay then._ Maybe this _was_ a good idea after all! The crazy people unloading on the wall of the museum hadn't even noticed Nora yet, and she managed to trudge up to the back of the fallen vertibird before the shouts began resounding from below, and the bullets started flying and seeking her.

 _Ka-ping!_ One of those bullets ricocheted a plate of her armor, but it didn't even leave a dent. _Ping!_ went another, right as Nora slipped her gauntleted hands under the mounted minigun and yanked it off its stand.

Servos turned, bolts popped out, and then she was effortlessly holding up the gigantic weapon, aiming from the hip. _Haha! Payback time!_ The cannon started to rotate, pulling at the chain of bullets that hung from its side, and then it started spitting fire. The night lit up.

 _Ping-PONG!_ Something struck Nora's helmet, and the force almost turned her head. Jarred her neck. One of the psycho's had climbed up onto the opposite roof, taking careful aim with his pipe-rifle. He'd nearly hit Nora's visor! Ack!

Snarling, she turned the full fury of her spitting minigun in the man's direction. His eyes bugged out when he saw what was coming, and then an instant later his head burst like a melon, black and red and grey bits flying everywhere. Headless, his body flopped down onto the roof and flailed like a fish.

 _Yeah! Get some!_

Nora rotated a bit, spraying bullets down at the masses of leather-and-steel-wearing weirdos, tearing up the cars they hid behind; the trashcans and bricks and mailboxes too.

And the flesh. Hard to tell what was going on, with everything so dark and distant, but at one point Nora distinctly saw a slender arm go flying. At another point she very clearly noticed a string of multi-colored, slimy, ropey guts tumble and flop out of someone and spread onto the sidewalk.

She squelched her eyes shut, though she kept squeezing the trigger. Her stomach was rolling and flipping. _Don't barf in the suit!_ she told herself resolutely. _Don't barf in the suit!_ At the least there was no chance of her peeing or crapping herself. _That_ particular battle-rite-of-passage had already happened several hours earlier.

 _Battle! Ha! I'm a soldier, huh?_ Nora wondered what that maniac drill sergeant back at basic would make of her now. She opened her eyes. There was fire and carnage everywhere ahead, but now she minded it all a little less. The minigun hummed and sputtered.

And then -somewhere under her feet- there was a sharp popping sound. She lost hold of the trigger and the world went out from under her feet, the hollow fuselage of the vertibird pitching forward and then down. Nora came rolling down with it. She flew through a cloud of smoke and debris, and then she was a big rock plunging through the night. The ground rushed up to smack her, unforgiving asphalt…

…but the servos in the arms and legs of the powered armor took the impact, and it all just seemed to groan a bit. Nora stood, wobbled, and then shook herself. Everything intact. No harm, no foul!

A woman was staring at Nora from across the street. Her hair was all done up in some weird, spikey do, and her face was caked in dirt, eyes lined with black war-paint. In one hand she held a hand grenade, and the other hand was reaching over and holding the pin. But the weapon seemed to hang, limp and forgotten between her fingers.

Nora hefted her minigun, took aim, and the barrels started their whirring. The other woman's jaw dropped, she turned around. She took off down the street as fast as she could. _Finally_ the bullets started pop-pop-popping out again, throwing up sparks around the fleeing woman. Not a single bullet struck her.

At the end of the street something suddenly seemed to _erupt._ An entire freaking _car_ went flying into the air with the motion, spinning and then clattering and screeching against the wall of one of the derelict buildings. The woman fled a few more yards, then a massive shadow burst out from the ground and loomed above her. A twist, and she went _flying,_ a ragdoll spinning head-over-heels-over-head, until she slammed into a faded Nuka-Cola advertisement painted onto the brick wall and went _SPLAT_. She flopped off of the wall, landing in a pile of rusty cars.

 _What the..?_ Nora flicked a fingertip against the interior of her gauntlet, turning on the armor's headlamp. It didn't illuminate much. The thing that had flung the woman still seemed like a looming shadow, over there at the end of the street. Then it took a step forward, and then another, and then it was running.

And _Gosh_ the thing was fast!

A demon! The thing was a gosh-darn DEMON! Horns and glowy eyes and spindly claws and a flicking tail and _everything!_ A demon right out of one of Nate's Grognak the Barbarian comics! In a panic Nora aimed her bulky gun and squeezed the trigger.

That annoying, gearing-up sound came as it whirred, and then the minigun went _tink-tink-tink_ once again. It spat streaks of fire at the charging demon, the bolts arcing and…mostly bouncing off the creature's armored hide. It didn't even slow the thing down.

One of the demon's massive hands went slinging back, and then it streaked in and smacked Nora on the shoulder, staggering her and making her dance backwards. Servos whirred, but they couldn't counter the thing's strength.

Nora raised her gun and squeezed the trigger, and maybe three more bullets sputted out before the thing went empty.

Like a frog the giant horned devil-thing _leapt_ and closed the distance with Nora. Its arms gripped her shoulders, its feet slammed into her belly and knocked her to the ground, and then the monster was looming and filling her field of vision, razor-teeth dripping with slather.

It gripped her shoulders. _Slam-slam-slam!_ The powered-armor groaned and dented, and pieces of it _tore._ The impact punched the air from Nora's lungs. In front of her eyes the HUD fizzled. There were critical errors everywhere.

This was it! She'd been given a little moment of arrogance and actually killed some people, but now a creature straight out of Hell had risen up to punish her for her hubris. She was well and rightly FU- urm.

Well, she was truly SCE- er. Well. In any case, this was it! Even if –just a moment from impeding death– Nora couldn't quite bring herself to swear (even in her head.)

The demon was trying to pry her out of the protective tin can. Get to the meat inside. It screamed and howled right over her face. Then it reared back.

And then there sounded a distant crack, followed by a nearby _whizz._ And then the demon's left eye just _exploded_ in a shower of blood and jelly. Hundreds of pounds of muscle shuddered and twitched for a moment, then all of the thing flopped down and went limp, collapsing on top of Nora.

A bullet through the eye, and then it was dead. _Wow._

There was a moment of silence. Then, with a crack and a massive boom, some nearby cars went up in a mushroom-cloud. That dead lady with the crazy hair and the grenade…she must have pulled the pin out after all. Bits of twisted metal and flaming slag rained down across Nora and the dead thing on top of her. Eventually she tried to wriggle up, but found that she couldn't. The power was gone from the limbs of her armor, and now the lifeless plates were just a burden. And the dead demon must have weighed a LOT, on top of that.

There was a scuffing sound on the pavement. _Ugh!_ Had she missed some of the psychos?

A figure sashayed into Nora's field of vision and loomed above her. She held a gun, but _thankfully_ she did not shove it against Nora's forehead. The woman was also not dressed in steel, long johns, or bits of tire. Instead she wore a long, sleeveless jacket, some symbol sewn just above the breast (a spade?) The woman's skin was cocoa-dark, she wore a black, wide brimmed cowboy hat on her head. Over her shoulder she carried some sort of rifle, with a wooden stock and a long, bolt-action barrel.

"Need some help?" the black cowgirl asked. Her voice was deep and there were some leathery lines on her face, but she looked sturdy and fit. There were some freckles there too.

From somewhere out of Nora's field of vision another voice sounded. "Who says she's not a raider?" This other woman sounded sharp and bitter.

"Looked like she was fighting raiders."

"How the fuck do you know?" the other voice protested. "Bunch'a folks with some gel in their hair and some welded-on clothes, and you just fucking assume that they're raiders? They could have been honest folk, you know. Just trying to get by, and then turned to gibs by miss psychopath here with the minigun and the powered armor."

Sheesh! This other woman sure sounded rude, but the cowgirl with the rifle was smiling a good-natured smile and paying no mind. "They were raiders," she simply stated, and then she smiled down at Nora. "And this one's not."

"But how do you fucking _know_?"

The woman turned toward Nora and loomed overhead. "Hey miss?" she asked. "Are you a raider?"

"I'm a lawyer," Nora protested, her voice a sounding a bit strange through the facemask.

The unseen voice sputtered, and then laughed. "A what?!"

"A lawyer." Nora thought a moment, and then made an effort to explain. "A student of abstract legal theory, working as either an advocate or an adversary, in criminal or civil-"

"Speak American, fuckhead."

"I am! And could you please not use such…such language…"

Now a full-throated belly-laugh came out from the out-of-sight woman, and a moment later she stepped into Nora's view. She was smaller than one might have expected, based on the voice: short and slight of build, dressed in torn blue jeans and a leather jacket. Her complexion was pale and a bit ruddy, and her eyes were faintly blue; close to the color of ice. There was a ratty straw hat on her head and a shotgun rested against her shoulder, her hand cupping its stock. "Ha!" the woman barked, and now Nora noticed that one of her front teeth seemed to be missing. "You're a strange one, huh?"

The other woman just bent down and wedged the butt of her rifle under the dead demon. "A little help?" she asked as she started to shake the creature off of Nora.

"And get my fingers shot off?"

"The safety's on. And since when are you cautious about anything, Cass?"

"Ha! Am I really supposed to trust _you_ to leave the safety on?" Teasing, but the white, ruddy woman was helping now.

"I'm not a drunk."

"Seen you throw back enough vodka and beer to kill a brahmin."

"Only on special occasions."

"Ha! Yep. Like every time the sun goes down. 'Only through massive sacrifices of vodka may we please Re, the Sun god, and insure that another day comes to pass. Amen.'"

With a mutual grunt they both managed to prop the dead demon-thing up and shove it off. Grateful, Nora rolled onto her belly and then warbled unsteadily to her feet. A few buttons pressed and she began to shed bits of powered armor, revealing the Vault Tec jumpsuit beneath. "Thank you for rescuing me…" she muttered. "From that…that…demon!"

"Deathclaw' the cowgirl with the rifle corrected her. "Tough hide, but they die quick enough if you shoot 'em in the eye."

"Death…what?" Nora asked. Sure had looked like a demon to her.

"They're just hyper-evolved lizards, really."

"Hyper…what?"

The white cowgirl guffawed again. "Oh! I get it! You're one of those weird-ass vault dwellers, right? Sheltered for generations, ever since the bombs fell?" Another chuckle. "Shit. I can't even imagine."

Nora looked at her feet. "You could say that. It's a…long story." (Or maybe a very short one. 'Hi! I'm Nora Haley. I got cryogenically frozen right after the bombs fell, then my husband was murdered in front of my eyes and my baby was snatched right out of his arms. I got frozen again, and now I've just woken up. And I have no idea what the TOOT is going on out here!')

She straightened and offered a hand. "I'm Nora Haley, by the way."

Instead of shaking, the shotgun-wielder tapped her chest. "I'm Rose of Sharon Cassidy." She hooked a thumb and pointed towards her companion. "And this –and I'd suggest bowing when you address her highness–"

"Cass…" the other woman groaned and protested. "Don't…"

"This is the esteemed, one and only…"

"Really, you said that you'd stop…"

"Queeeeen…" Cass drew out the word with this odd, Tennessean twang. It almost sounded like she was doing an Elvis impersonation. "…of New Vegas, Her August Majesty Petra VanBuren!"


	2. Moseying on Down the Trail

**2 – Moseying on Down the Trail**

"You're a long ways from Nevada," Nora observed, just trying to make small talk as they ambled down the road.

The sun had risen a little while ago and the sky was rosy on the edges and a deepening grey-white up top. They were all walking in a procession down the cracked and pockmarked road that used to run down to Concord from the itty-bitty berg of Sanctuary Hills, which was up in the…well…the hills. The guy carrying the laser-musket-contraption and wearing the tan trench coat (Preston…his name was Preston) walked point, his four remaining followers shambling on behind him and looking exhausted and utterly beat. Their spunky little dog trotted on beside Preston.

(Well, the dog wasn't all that little, Nora supposed. The fellow looked like a fine, sturdy, and full-grown German Shepard, actually. The old lady had called him Dogmeat – likely an affectionate and ironic nickname. _Urm._ Unless they really meant to _eat_ the poor thing if he bit a bullet and barked his last, but Nora couldn't imagine that. In fact, she _utterly_ dismissed that macabre thought. Sheesh!)

They walked in a short procession, with Petra and her partner Cass taking up the rear. A lit cigarette smoldered and bobbed between the riflewoman's lips, and one of her arms cradled her wood-stocked rifle. The other arm gently held the bridle of a red-skinned, two-headed cow-monster that Nora tried to keep her distance from while at the same time attempting to stay close enough to cowgirls to be under their protection. A delicate dance.

Seriously…what the heck!? No one seemed to bat an eye at this horned, wrinkled monstrosity. A mountain of luggage was stacked on the creature's back, wobbling precariously with each step and tilting like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but neither Petra nor Cass –who stood on either side of the beast– seemed to be worried that the packs of baggage or the bundled weapons (boy were there a lot of weapons…) would spill.

Cass responded to Nora's question before Petra could. "Her stint as queen," (again she gave the word this strong Tennessee drawl) "didn't go too well." She tilted her head and looked over the neck(s) of the cow-monster. "I always told you that putting down roots wouldn't work out."

Petra glared at the trail in front of her. "It was all going pretty well. Until the robots revolted."

"Aint' that always the case?" Cass laughed.

A queasy feeling rolled through Nora's stomach. "They can do that?" Surely Codsworth would never hurt another living soul. Well…except for those big fat mutant-flies he had gleefully bisected with his buzzsaw hand, showering that abandoned house with globs of white ichor while Nora recoiled. Remembering that made her stomach churn even more.

"Yup," Cass stated flatly. "See, the NCR and these asshole raiders called the Legion were fighting over New Vegas, but when the dust settled our friend here-" she nodded towards Petra "-happened to be in charge of this army of souped-up cop robots. With lasers for hands and fucking missile launchers in their shoulders and shit. So she…"

Her voice trailed off as Petra casually glanced to her right and started to raise her rifle to her shoulder.

 _Crack-POW!_ Nora danced backwards and covered her ears, a whiff of gunsmoke hitting her nostrils. Most of the procession ducked and covered too. But just as casual as she had fired, Petra cradled her rifle again and started down the road.

"Wh-what was..?" Nora stammered.

"Some giant mosquito," the riflewoman said with a shrug.

"Swatted now!" Cass laughed, slapped her thigh. She then lifted a pint bottle from her jeans pocket, amber liquid sloshing as she threw it back and took a nip.

 _Sheesh. Isn't it a little early for that?_ Not that Nora _ever_ touched the stuff, morning, noon or night.

"So anyway," Petra went on, "my little gang managed to keep the Legion from Conquering New Vegas and killed their leaders. Then we browbeat the Californians out of annexing the place, on account of that giant army of robots that fell into my lap. Had to toss one of their generals off Hoover Dam to make the point but…" she shrugged. "There was this fellow in New Vegas who kind of ruled the outskirts of town. Called himself-" (and again there was that weird Elvis impersonation) "- _the King_." (Pronounced _'Kaaa-ng'_ of course.) "He led the biggest gang in town, he was a real smooth operator, and we had kind of a thing." Petra smiled a bit, obviously wistful.

"So I had this army of robots," she went on, "and I figured I'd set myself up as the Queen. Was good for a little while too. I ruled inner Vegas, the King ruled the outskirts, and we cooperated and tried the whole 'building a just and equitable society' thing."

"When they weren't screwing like rabbits," Cass interjected.

Petra ignored that and just went on. "But the AI that I was using to control the robots…well, he acted like a fawning sycophant, but early on he told me that he was going to work on 'being more assertive.' Should have known. One night he went to sleep and stopped talking. Then about a year later…" She made this fluttering, explosiony gesture with her free hand. "BAM! Robot revolution! Lasers and rockets flying everywhere!"

Her hand fell down to her side, and after that they walked on in silence for a bit. Petra eventually broke it. "So I'm not queen of anything now. Just a roving employee of Cassidy's Caravanning Company here. Trying to peddle this pile of junk."

"Such a saleswoman." Cass chortled.

"And apparently still a roving do-gooder." Petra gave a significant look to the line of people walking ahead of her cow-monster.

"Yup," Cass agreed. "Don't reckon there's ever been a time when you weren't babysitting a bunch of townsfolk."

"We can take care of ourselves!" the younger, grumpy woman in Preston's little group of followers complained, though she kept her eyes to the asphalt ahead of her. The woman had struck Nora as unhinged when she had first talked with her, though it seemed like she had lost someone dear recently (A child? God! Nora hoped not, but that was the impression that she got…) so she tried not to judge.

"I'm sure you can," Petra replied, teeth tightening around her cigarette as she lifted her rifle again. She swerved, took aim at something that Nora couldn't see, and then the rifle let out another ear-splitting CRACK. Everyone cringed, save Petra, Cass, and Preston. Then Petra shouldered her smoldering rifle once again.

"Another mosquito?" Nora asked.

"Nah. A molerat."

"A mole..?" _Huh?_ But then it all came back in a flash: the soil erupting all around Nora at the Red Rocket parking lot as a swarm of those scaly, bucktoothed creatures _leapt_ out. She remembered open jaws flying for her face as she screamed and her ten millimeter let out the most frantic bang-bang-bangs that it could.

And now the Red Rocket sign loomed in sight again, as they continued down the road.

"So…uh…" Nora asked in a low voice. "In that big pile of goods that you're carrying…"

"What do you need?" Petra asked with a casual shopkeeper's smile.

"You wouldn't happen to have some…" she whispered, "spare underpants for sale?" The pair Nora had worn for two centuries had ended up tossed in the trash behind this very gas station. After the molerats…

"Hm. Yeah. Sure." Petra reached for one of the saddlebags.

"Ack!" Nora hissed. "No." She glanced at all the people walking on in front of them. "Not here. In front of…people. Can we maybe make the trade when we get to the uh…" She looked ahead. "Well actually we're heading for my home." The bridge had some into view now, along with the beaten sigh welcoming everyone to Sanctuary Hills.

Petra gave her a significant look. "You live here? Are there other settlers?"

"What?" Nora shook her head. "No. It'…a long story." She frowned at the sign. A full circle, and completely fruitless. There had been no signs of her baby boy, unless you counted the drug-addled ramblings of some crazy old woman. _'Go to Diamond City! You can find anything there.'_ Some helpful blooping advice, huh? About as prophetic and psychic as saying: _'Hey! Have you thought of checking the lost and found?'_

Not to mention that Shaun had been yanked out of Nate's (dead…) hands just before Nora had been put _back_ into some sort of cryo-sleep. She knew how this stuff worked. She used to watch Rob Stermin's science fiction show _Twisting Turns_ every Thursday night, and she had seen the movie _Planet of the Hyper-Evolved Bat-People_ ( **spoiler alert:** it turned out that the planet was Earth all along) two times.

For all she knew Shaun's kidnapping could have happened a century ago. Her baby could be ten, or twenty, or a great grandfather by now. He could be anywhere. Or anywhen.

"So?" Petra was prodding her.

"Huh?"

"Tell us your story then."

Nora gave her rescuer a weak smile, glancing around. "Maybe later. After you've told the full story about that robot revolt."

Nearby, Preston was staring up in awe at some statue that Nora had passed by a million times and never really thought about. "Well I'll be damned. It's the monument to the original Minutemen. I knew that was somewhere around Concord. That means…" He shook his head in awe. "…this right here must be the old north bridge. Where the first shots of the American revolution were fired!"

"Why are you so impressed with that old world bullshit?" Cass asked, ambling up beside him.

"You see bullshit, and I see heroism. We Minutemen modeled ourselves after those old militias. I mean, they-"

"Wait!" Cass cackled. "You call yourself a 'minute man?'"

"Oh boy." Petra smacked her forehead.

"And you're actually proud of that?" Cass went on.

Preston gave her a confused look. "Well, yeah. They could be prepared in one minute-"

"Well, just about any man can be _prepared_ quick, I'm sure. It's not about the preparation. It's about endurance."

Now Preston looked incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about exactly, lady?"

She poked him in the chest and gave him a wicked grin. "Just curious if _you're_ really just a one-minute man."

He finally seemed to catch on, and just shook his head. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." Turning from the statue, Preston led his followers on.

"Oh come on," Cass persisted, following at his heels. "Don't tell me you don't get that joke all the time."

Petra chuckled. "I know how this is gonna end," she said as Preston led the way and Cass followed, insistently hovering over his shoulder and talking.

Nora only caught a few stray words now. She looked at Petra curiously and got a wry smirk in reply. "Cass might seem all cynical," the riflewoman went on in a low voice, "but she _loves_ herself a good hero-man. I'm betting by tomorrow we'll either be hearing all about how Mr. Minuteman totally lived up to his name, _or_ she'll go on and on and on about how many minutes he was worth. Either way, she'll never shut up." A chuckle. "Never does."

Nora cringed, walking along. Then something occurred to her. "Oh. Tomorrow? So you're staying awhile?"

"Sure," Petra said with a shrug. "Might as well make sure you don't all die horrible deaths tonight. Help these settlers settle in and all." And then, without warning, she whirled around, raised her rifle, and shot across the river. Nora tried to follow, but she just couldn't see anything beyond morning mist.

A pause, a lot of cringing, and again the procession started on. They went single-file across the janky wooden bridge leading into Sanctuary Hills, and Nora hastened to follow. This irradiated world -full of giant monsters and crazy, gun-wielding people- sure was terrifying. But it seemed like the safest place at the moment was curled up right here in this (slightly crazy) woman's shadow.

No Shaun, no real clues, and she was going back home with her tail between her legs. On the plus side: she was still alive!

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks so much, guest reviewer! And any reviews are welcome. I'm especially curious about how about how the Courier comes off, since because of the premise of this story she kind of has to have a certain degree of Mary Sueness (she's meant to believably be someone who conquered all the crazy stuff that Fallout: New Vegas throws at you, after all), but I hope I manage to balance that out and keep things interesting.


	3. Settling

**3 - Settling**

As the last dregs of daylight faded up above, Nora found herself sewing hundred dollar bills together into the shape of a fitted bedsheet. _Not_ how she pictured this day ending. Or any day, really.

'Old World Money' was what they called the fat stacks of cash they had gathered from the homes and stores of Sanctuary Hills. Apparently, here in the New World, the stuff was mostly used for insulation. Ah well. Sewing the bills together, end on end, was easy enough for Nora, what with the _First Rate Seamstress_ merit badge she had earned in the _Junior Patriot Scouts_ all those years ( _urm_ _…_ centuries) ago.

Oh, what a long, strange day it had been.

Walking through Sanctuary Hills had been surreal and unnerving. Everything just looked a little too _the same_ , despite all the cracks and pockmarks. The Whitfield's house was painted the exact same shade of yellow that Nora had seen the last time…before the bombs fell. And Abel's place was still painted the same pale blue. The tricycle that Mrs. Rosa's son was fond of scooting around on sat, covered in jagged rust, at the edge of the road where the boy liked to park it. Or…had liked to park it, before the poor little fellow got vaporized. Or was he now a popsicle, back in the vault? _Gah!_ Either way, Nora did _not_ want to think about it.

So many ghosts. Thus, it actually came as a relief when Preston's followers, led by the amicable guy with the pompadour and sideburns (Sturges?) had started to tear pieces of the houses down, scrap the cars, and generally rearrange things.

Codsworth had _not_ approved of that, buzzing over to the little workcrew like an enraged metal hornet and bobbing up and down, his bottom flame whiffing all the while. He had shouted all sorts of stuff about theft and defacement of property, threatening to contact the authorities, while Nora tried her best to calm him.

'It's not defacement,' she had said. 'It's just renovation! It'll be alright.'

He had settled down after a few pats on his round metal head, his eye-servo turning to face her with a whirl. 'Oh. I see. Thank you, mum.' She'd smiled at him then. Reassuring.

And after that Nora's old robot buddy had actually been eager to help. He leapt into the renovations with a gusto, and boy did his buzzsaw hand and blowtorch-appendage come in…well…handy ( _har har!_ )

They had torn down most of the old Able home and used the cement foundation to stack up little 'fortifications' at the spots that Preston considered weak points, binding them together a bit with nailed-up boards. Then, once the minor defenses were in place, they had moved on to the next step: building enough beds for everyone to comfortably sleep in. After two centuries of weather and rot all that remained of the old beds were brittle wooden frames, so new ones were put togheter from whatever defunct hunks of metal (mostly old pipes) they could find lying around, along with a lot of random, rusty springs. Next came layers of stretchy fabric over said springs, and that was how Nora ended up sewing hundred dollar bills together by the firelight.

Sewing hundred dollar bills together, and trying real, _real_ hard to focus on that and NOT on the _thing_ that Petra had skewered and spinning over the cookfire. It sure smelled good: Nora's mouth kept watering and her stomach lurched and rumbled. Hopefully she'd be able to eat it with her eyes closed, because although the _smell_ was appealing, what the thing _looked_ like was a giant, wrinkly, naked, pink rat.

People actually…they actually _ate_ those things?!

Thankfully Nora's appetite didn't vanish when a ceramic plate, containing a steaming hunk of meat, was placed in her hand. Better yet: there was a (strangely fat and misshaped) corncob there next to the…the steak. ( _Let's just call it a steak. Okay?_ ) Shame they didn't have any butter or Salisbury sauce.

"So where exactly did you live, in here?" Petra asked as the little circle of settlers chewed on their dinner and Nora dug in. (Hey! It was her first real meal in two centuries, come to think of it! So don't judge…)

Nora looked up and pointed. "That house over there. I…well, this was before the war…"

Petra nodded. "Had an impression you were pre-war. But damn. How did a ghoul stay so well-preserved?"

"A…a ghoul?" Nora shook her head. No idea what that meant. "I was in a Vault. They had these pods, and we got flash-frozen. The day the bombs fell. Only just woke up."

"Wow." Petra spoke with her mouth full of food. No manners at all. "Shit."

Rollicking laughter nearby drew Nora's attention. A bit out of the firelight, Cass was hovering near Preston and tapping him on the chest. She looked pretty drunk. Preston gave her a good-natured smile, but it turned into a bit of a cringe when she leaned forward and whispered something into his ear.

Petra ignored all of that. "So you're like…The Woman out of Time! Awesome!"

Nora stared down at her plate. "Not sure about all of that…"

"And you've got that Vault Suit and kickass wrist-computer and everything! Bet you even know how to program it."

"Well, yeah. It's pretty simple."

"Hardly." Petra tapped her wrist. "I had one of those things once, you know. A Pip-Boy. This nice vault-dwelling doctor gave it to me for some reason. It was good for land-nav, and I liked the radio. At first. Of course I got sick of how they just played the same couple of songs over and over, and I couldn't figure out much else to use it for, so I gave the doohickey to a friend."

"Oh? You gave it away?"

"In better hands now. My friend was super excited about it. Said that she could 'hack the mainframe to optimize targeting efficiency using the wrath of perfect math' or…some shit like that."

"Ugh!" Cass groaned from off beyond the firelight. "Do NOT talk about that tweaked-out jethead! Please! You'll summon her! She'll come flying down on a jetpack or something, dressed in a spacesuit and armed with a death ray."

Petra chuckled and took another bite of her…her steak.

Nora stared down at her wrist-computer, not speaking for a while, and carefully chewed her own slice of meat. ( _Do not_ _…_ _I repeat do NOT think about where it came from_.)

"Maybe I could play around with the settings a bit," she said eventually. "I can code a little, too. Just a little. I was mostly just a housewife. Then I got my law degree a week before…sheesh...before the bombs fell. I guess I was going to start a career but…are there even any laws out here?"

"Mostly just the law of the jungle."

"Ugh. Yeah. I did some basic in the army too, but then there was the medical leave…"

"Huh?"

Silence.

"This something embarrassing?"

"Guess it's long past the time for that. We told everyone that the wedding came _first_ and Shaun —my baby— came second, but it was really the other way around. Not that marrying Nate wasn't the greatest thing in the world and…and…"

"Sounds like you really loved him."

Nora looked down at her plate. "Ugh. Past tense. Yeah." Everything was getting cloudy. "Just…just yesterday I watched…watched him…" Watched him get his brains blown out.

She hadn't noticed, but Petra had moved over to her side, and now a sturdy hand was resting on her shoulder. "We've all lost good people," the big, gun-slinging lady said. "And we carry them around with us. Always." Before Nora realized that she had started to sob there was a supporting arm around her.

Sometime later, once the sobs had run their course, Petra spoke again. "Course it probably won't be soothing to tell you that the one I miss the most, the one that really hurt, was this little robot friend of mine…"

Nora chuckled and wiped at her eyes. "No. It's fine. Tell me about it."

"He was this cheery little eyebot, with all the heart in the world. His name was Ed-E…"

Nora nodded, listening to the story as Petra told it: about a spunky little eyebot who had sacrificed himself to avert a second apocalypse. At one point Nora glanced over to the spot where Cass had been harassing the militia leader, but both of them had vanished a good while ago.

* * *

"So you're leaving?"

Petra nodded, securing the last bit of gear to the back of the pack brahmin. "Sorry. Found that it never works out when I stay in one place for too long. And…well…" She gestured at the pile of luggage.

"We've got some golden gecko hides to sell," Cass explained. "It'll fetch a pretty cap or two in Diamond City, I'm betting."

Nora rubbed her chin. Diamond city. The crazy, drugged-up old lady had said that was where she should go, if she wanted to find her baby. But the crazy, drugged-up old lady said a lot of things that never made a lick of sense.

"Well, hope you come back sometime," Nora said, forcing a smile.

"You're sticking here, I take it?"

"Looks like I'm the town seamstress."

Petra laughed and patted her shoulder. "Well, you stay safe, alright?"

Soon the pair of caravaners were making their way out of town, walking into the sunset like the wild west movie-characters they resembled ( _Hmm. Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane?_ ) Good luck to them too.

Nora supposed it was best for her to avoid the roads, however. She'd already had enough excitement for six lifetimes, Shaun was lost somewhere in the past (at some point, maybe, she'd climb up to the old vault and dig through the computer records; figure out exactly how many years ago her baby was taken away), and she and Codsworth had been a great help to the settlers.

So. Time to settle.

Early the next morning Nora was awakened by the sound of a woman shouting into a screeching bullhorn. "BRING US THE PROPHETESS! WE HAVE YOU OUTGUNNED FIVE TO ONE! BRING US THE PROPHETESS!"

Shouldn't have been a surprise. Here in the New World there was never any peace.


	4. The Laws of Robotics

**Author** **'** **s Note:** Hello there, my neglected little fic. Let's see if we can add some more chapters to you!

 **4 - The Laws of Robotics**

"Absolutely not!" Preston Garvey grumbled, hunched down behind the bags of sand and random junk that the settlers had made a barricade of.

"Come on Preston," the old woman insisted, in that faintly Bostonian accent of hers (Nora found it amazing that such an accent had lasted two hundred years. Then again, maybe Mama Murphy had seen at least one of those centuries personally.) "None of us lives forever, and I've got less time than most."

"After Quincy? After everyone we lost on the road? You're just going to throw it all away?! To them?!" He motioned towards the barricade, and the long line of gun-toting banditos beyond that. "After all the sacrifices our friends made?!"

"Nothing's sacrificed."

"Mama Murphey. They'll strap you to a chair, pump you full of jet, and _demand_ you point them to the best salvage score. Until your heart gives out."

"Not this one Preston. She's not like Jared. She just wants to know about her sister."

"She…what?"

They were interrupted by another shout over the bullhorn from the bandit-leader-lady. "YOU WILL ALL BE SPARED IF YOU JUST HAND OVER THE SEER! WE ONLY WANT HER!"

Hearing that voice, Nora just couldn't resist peaking past the barrier. _Yep._ The bandits hadn't been kidding about that five-to-one ratio. Looked like a lot of folks were lined up across the road and guarding the bridge, while others crouched behind the trees and bushes. And, of course, they were all filthy, colorful, and dressed in bits of welded steel and tire parts.

They were bristling with weapons too. Or…well…to Nora's eyes they still looked more like rusty plumbing supplied and duct tape, but she had learned by now that those pipe-guns can shoot straight enough.

Right in the middle of the road stood the woman with the megaphone, tall even without the cinder block that she was standing on. She was dressed in rust-buttressed leathers and it looked like there was a smear of warpaint over her eyes, though it was hard to make out much else in the dim predawn light.

Next to her stood a smaller, toadish-looking fellow with a wrinkled, pinched up face. Looked like Megaphone Lady was about to say something more, but the little toad started talking to her, his arms waving wildly. Nora didn't catch much, but at one point it sounded like the fellow was asking "…not really, right?" Seemed there was some disagreement over this whole 'sparing the settlers' thing.

Nora turned away, clutching Old Mr. Ten Millimeters between her hands. She gave the gun a dubious look. She'd been hoping she'd never have to pull him out again.

"Damn shame this happened so soon," Sturges muttered. He'd just joined the little huddle behind the sandbags, and Marcy and Jun were close behind him, heads down and rifles in hand. Seemed the whole gang was here. "Give me a few more weeks and I could have gotten that power armor back up and running."

"At least we've got some fortifications," Preston said. "And this settlement is naturally defensible, what with the river on three sides and the hills on the other. Worse comes to worse, we withdraw and take shelter in the vault." He shook his head. "A shame the Minutemen are in shambles. This would be the perfect situation for them. Get on the ham and call for help from a neighboring militia."

Sturges' eyebrows rose for a split second, a lightbulb-over-the-head look crossing his face. "Backup huh? Those caravaners who mowed down the deadhclaw like it was nothing aren't that long gone."

"Long enough. Five hours, I'd say."

"Yeah, but they were ambling along with that overpacked bahmen of theirs, in the middle of the night. And the redhead was _way_ drunk. Couldn't have gotten that far."

The bandits had finished arguing. "ALRIGHT" Bullhorn Lady shouted once again. "You will hand over Murphy the Seer, two thousand caps or the equivalent in ammunition, and a day's worth of food supplies. You have five minutes! Then we will take what we need by force!"

"They're being reasonable for raiders," Mama Murphy pointed out. "Come on Preston."

"No!" He hissed back.

 _A runner, huh?_ Nora bit her lip, glancing around at their little huddle. Then she felt a head-lightbulb of her own flash.

Over there, sitting on his haunches and poised all stately-hound-like, was Mama Murphy's pet. He looked for all the world like _Nabby the Police Dog_ , from the TV and the comics. Funny: as Nora recalled, Nabby had been a full grown German shepherd. How on earth had this dog's ancestors managed not to get mutt-iffied over the past two centuries?

But, annnyways: much like Nabby, this animal looked _smart._ "Dogmeat?" Nora hissed, meeting the furry fellow's curious brown eyes. That was his name, right? ( _Eww!_ )

Dogmeat cocked his head.

"Dogmeat! Run and get help!" She waved her arms, the way people would do it on the show to send Nabby off, usually after they had gotten trapped in a well or something. "Go find the two cowgirls and tell them that we're in trouble!"

Dogmeat's head just tilted a bit more, and there seemed to be a sad, almost pitying look in his eyes. Did he just not get it? Nora's arms made big circles. "Go on! Fetch 'em! Or…whatever the command is!" Realizing that everyone was staring at her like she was crazy, she lowered her arms.

 _Okay. That was stupid._ Cheeks hot, Nora looked away, searching for a better idea. Between the nearby houses she caught a glimpse of the river, gently trickling by. "Oh. Hm. What about the river?" She asked. "They don't have us totally surrounded. Can't we just…swim across and escape? Or, maybe someone can at least get help that…way…" They were all looking at her like she was the dumbest person in the world. _Ugh_.

Preston shook his head. "That water's irradiated to hell and back. Your skin would be falling off by the time you got to the other side."

 _Oh_ , Nora mouthed. _Shucks._ Good thing she hadn't thought about going for a dip.

"It would be simple enough for me to cross," a chipper, faux-British voice pointed out. Codsworth was hovering nearby, his little telescope eyes swiveling as he surveyed the settlement, the bandits, and then the settlement again.

"Yeah!" exclaimed Nora. "Yeah! Codsworth! You can float over the river. Go get help." Why had she thought of the dog before the robot?

"Hm. Seems like it would be better if that thing stayed here to fight," Preston said.

"Can it even fight?" Marcy countered. "It's a glorified hedge-trimmer."

Codswoth's limbs fluttered, and he made huffy sound. "Engage in crude fisticuffs? Certainly not. I can assure you that Master Nathan had the highest human-safety protocols set when I was initially booted. It would require a voice command-"

"See," Marcy cut in. "It's useless."

By then Nora had slipped out of her crouch. If they were going to do _something_ , they had to do it now. "Codsworth!" She beckoned. "Come on, buddy." Head low, she jogged back into the settlement, searching for a spot that would be out of the bandit's sights. The reassuring whir and hum of her robobutler's servos followed close behind her.

At the big cul-de-sac, she turned and raced down to the banks of the river, and the sound of Codsworth's machinery was joined by a series of ugly crackles and pops from Nora's Pip-Boy. The rad-meter was going nuts. _Sheesh. Preston wasn_ _'_ _t kidding._ The river (well, more of a wide creek, really) had certainly been prettier before thermo-nuclear hellfire seared all the trees and burnt away the grass. It was a muddy mess now, peppered with trash, and the banks were bare.

"Alright Codsworth. I don't think they'll see you if you cross here. Float over, find the road, and follow it to Concord. And when you see two women with cowboy hats on, steering a big two-headed cow-monster, tell them that Sanctuary Hills is under siege. We need help." She looked into the robot's central eye. "Can you do that for me, buddy?"

"I….mum…you see…" The lenses inside his eye-stalks whirred nervously. "I can…travel, certainly." With a few little putters from his jet, he floated to the edge of the water. Stopping, he faced her again. "It's only…mum…."

"Go on! For me!"

"But…" He straightened, robo-limbs clicking and whirring. "It would violate the spirit of my manservant protocols to leave you behind. And…so soon after you just reappeared!"

"The spirit? So there's not actually anything in your programming preventing you from doing this?"

"Well, no mum…" If Codsworth had heels, he most certainly would be dragging them right now.

 _Then just do it!_ The order was on the tip of Nora's tongue, but, looking at those droopy eyestalks and listening to that pained voice, she just couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Alright then," Nora breathed out instead. "How much weight can you carry?"

"Up to two-hundred and ninety pounds, according to me specs."

"Then we go together." Nora nodded to herself after that, holstered her pistol, made sure that it was secure, and then, for the third (or perhaps fourth) time that morning, she did something extremely stupid.

With a great leap, Nora tackled her startled robot, bear-hugging his head/chassis and locking her legs over his outstretched arms, which thankfully stretched out a bit more to accommodate. The hovering robot careened at a dangerous angle, floating and bobbing out farther over the water. _Stupid!_ "Hold on!" Nora ordered. _Darn! Darn it to heck!_ Were they about to flip? Had those specs been wildly over-exaggerated by Robco?

Servos whirred and Codsworth's rocket-flame _put-put_ -puttered along. A few terrifying seconds of warbling, and then they were level, robo-arms curling up under Nora's legs. The sharp joints between the arm-segments pinched the backs of her thighs something awful. "I have you mum. Some…warning would have been appreciated though."

"Just float us over!" Nora hissed. "Let's do this quick!"

"Yes mum." Again the robot tilted, and Nora's stomach flipped. They careened, and the river began to pass beneath them, far too slowly and a bit too close to Nora's dangling backside for comfort —especially when they twisted or wobbled. The water sloshed and hissed where the flame from Codsworth's rocket brushed the surface. Yeah. This was about the most ungainly 'ship' imaginable.

"I do hope the neighbors don't spot us," Codsworth said. "They might get unseemly-"

"Don't even start it."

"Yes mum."

Far up on the opposite bank bushes were rustling, and then two figures scurried out, pistols in hand. Yelling at her robot had _probably_ not been a good idea. Or the bandits had just been watching the river closely. Either case, the two men, both wearing bug-eye goggles and spiky hairdos, were chatting to each other and looking down the sights of their guns.

Turning away and pressing her cheek to the robot's puttering steel chassis, Nora muttered: "Faster! Faster!" At least the bug-eyed twins had looked a little uncertain and-

 _Pop-pop-pop!_ The understated sound of small arms fire began to erupt from the settlement, followed by the _fizz-THRUM_ that had to be Preston returning fire with his laser-musket-doohickey. Seemed like their five minutes was up.

The bug-eye-goggle-twins reacted instantly. There was a muted bang, and something buzzed through the air, just behind Nora. _Stupid! Stupid!_ A second gunshot was followed by a splash of water, a good ten feet up the river, but the next shot splashed closer, and the next landed closer still.

Wide-eyed, Nora watches as the little beads of radioactive water and foam went flying up, uncomfortable close to where her feet were dangling. Time seemed to stop, the little droplets just glistening and wobbling, and she found herself imagining that that glitter and sparkle came from the intense beta and gamma rays that were oozing out of the stuff. She imagined the sunburn that she'd get from a single splatter. Then cancer would probably follow.

The constant buzz and pop of the rad-meter on her wrist sure wasn't helping, either.

 _Oh god! I_ _'_ _m going to get rad-poisoning out here, aren't I? I'm going to die b-b-bleeding from ever orifice! Oh god! Stop! Stop imagining that Nora! And, anyways, it'll probably be a slower, coughing, wasting sort of death- No! STOP it Nora!_

Another bullet came buzzing by, and it occurred to her that lead poisoning was a much more likely cause of death out here than gamma rays. It also occurred to her that her robot had begun to rotate, slowing a bit. "Codsworth, what are you-"

The next bang was followed by a _ting_ , and the vibration from the bullet -which had struck Codsworth's chassis- rattled Nora's teeth. "Codsworth! Just get us across! Don't-" She cringed as another bullet hit and ricocheted.

But then they were hanging over dry-caked mud instead of irradiated water. Nora let go immediately, yelping when she landed, ungainly, on her rump. A mad scramble up the side of the bank followed, and then she was running madcap between bushes and old, charred, petrified trees, putting as much of their bulk between her and the gunmen as she could.

She ran, over hills and down gullies, pushing back briers and hopping over stones.

The sound of another gunshot and a metallic _ping,_ rather far behind, stopped her in her tracks. Whirling around, Nora watched, wide-eyed, as Codsworth hobbled and bobbed his way down a hillside that she had cleared moments ago. He jerked to the side, a bullet smacking the top of his dome and leaving a dent.

 _No!_ He'd never outdistance the bandits. Not at the speed that he moved. Though at least he was over the crest and floating down the hill now, out of their sights temporarily. "Codsworth!" she shouted.

"It's fine, mum. I can block their bullets while you beat a retreat."

A violent shake of her head. The ten millimeter pistol was clasped between Nora's hands, though she couldn't recall when she had drawn it. "No! We turn and fight them! I'm not leaving you!" She took a step forward.

"My protocols, mum. I cannot commit an aggressive act against a human or-"

"Screw your protocols!" The moment those words left her mouth she clamped a hand down hard over it, shocked by the swear.

"Please mum. I know that this is a tense situation, and the swear jar _was_ destroyed in the thermonuclear holocaust, but I would prefer if you would refrain from such language."

Nora found herself shaking her head. A swear, but, darn it all, she had meant it. She shouted again. "Codsworth! As your owner I hereby _order_ you to turn off all safety protocols and…and…kill the stuffings out of those gunmen!"

The result was instantaneous. Red lights came on in Codsworth's eyes, the stalks flexed, and a deep, menacing voice that sounded very unlike that of a British butler (and scared the bejeebees out of Nora) sounded from the robot's speech-box:

 **"[][]VOICE PATTERN RECOGNIZED. TARGETING PROTOCOLS RESET. LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED FOR ALL ORGANIC LIFE![][]"** And with that the Mr. Handy unit spun around, its limbs rising like scorpion tails, and Nora found herself stepping back and wondering if she had just made a very big mistake. Images from late night science fiction features flashed before her eyes, filled with robots marching in a neat formation and shouting: _"Exterminate all life! Exterminate all life!"_

But then, to her immense relief, the comforting British-butler-voice returned. "Time for some fisticuffs, then?"

 _Whew!_

A split second later the pair of raiders leapt over the rise, charging directly into the blooming fires of Codsworth's flamethrower.


	5. Search and Rescue

**Author's Note:** An ongoing warning for gore. _Hopefully_ that won't bother the audience too much, since this is based on a game where people's heads regularly explode, but I thought I'd put that up here. And somehow this chapter got especially gory.

 **5 – Search and Rescue**

With a terrible _whoosh —_ no doubt fueled by the gunk they used to keep their porky-pine hair-styles in place— the pair of bug-eyed goggle-twins went up in flames. Their arms flailed, pipe pistols pointing skyward and shooting a few useless bullets into the air.

Nora dove to the dirt, just in case, and then took aim at the dancing, screaming human torches in front of her. _Do something productive_ , she told herself over the hammering of her heart. _Ignore all that screaming. Aim for center mass, keep calm, and squeeze._

Two shots dropped the first man like a stone. The second man fell after one, though he did a lot of pained rolling around on the ground. Nora tried to sit up, aim downward, and put him out of his misery, but her shots just hit the ground near the moving target, wasting a couple of bullets.

She was reloading when Codsworth came bobbing over to hover above the burning men, his buzzsaw hand spinning. "Um…" Nora started. "It's okay. You really don't need to…"

But that buzzsaw wasn't taking any chances. It descended, and Nora's eyes widened. "Oh…oh my…" She forced herself to turn away. Convenient that she was on her hands and knees; it was the perfect position for vomiting.

After a lot of ugly noises, the saw's whine died down and the robot manservant came floating in beside her, carrying the smell of charred flesh and blood along with him. "A fine mess cleaned up, I daresay!" he announced, all chipper-like. Then his eyestalk whirred. "Is mum alright? Have you come down with some sort of stomach bug?"

"Um. I'm fine." She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jumpsuit. "We just need to get moving." Straightening, she surveyed the woods. What had her goofy idea been again? Oh yeah. To find the road and then hopefully find…help? Well, here goes.

Predawn had given way to morning. The sky was rosy, and color was entering the world. Oh! And there, over the tree line, loomed a helpful travel-marker: the sign of the Red Rocket gas station. She started for it.

* * *

They had been running (at Codsworth's annoyingly dainty pace) for maybe five minutes, and not yet reached the road, when there was commotion in the brambles just behind them. A nanosecond's glimpse over her shoulder, and Nora got the picture: three people rushed through the bushes; hair spiked-up or deadlocked, clothes motley and welded together, with their faces caked in filth and warpaint, 'cept for the fellow who was wearing a gasmask. And all three of them carried pipe-rifles.

Whirling, Nora sprinted. More bandits!

Deep down, some part of her whispered –all calm and serene-like– that at the least she'd drawn a lot of the bad guys away from Sanctuary Hills. At least now, if a bullet chanced to whiz right through the back of her skull and shatter her face like an eggshell, well, she'd have done her best to help the nice people.

All the other parts of her weren't serenely whispering, however. They were **screaming** incoherently. Some were even using words that Nora would never dare to say out loud.

She _did_ hear a bullet whiz, but fortunately it flew past her ear (they always seemed to buzz like bees), and then she was ducking behind a big mossy rock, her gun between her hands. Codsworth managed to float his way in beside her without taking a ding.

Footfalls behind the rock. Then they slowed. Next came cautious padding. The raiders where spreading out.

Nora guesstimated at where they were, then popped her hand and her gun up above the rock. She shot three times; suppressing fire, and one of the bad guys even yelped. ( _Ha!_ ) There was a lot of scuffling and scrambling. Sounded like they were slipping back behind the trees.

"Fuck!" some guy complained. "Bitch scuffed my arm pad."

"Was just a lucky shot," a female voice huffed back at him.

"So," the third raider —a man— shouted, addressing Nora directly. "We see you've got some bullets and some fight in you! But how's about a deal instead? How 'bout we all just walk away, after a little exchange?"

Nora said nothing.

"See, that's a nice robot you've got," the man went on. He had a bit of a used-car-salesman pitch to his voice. "How about you hand it over, and then we all go our separate ways?"

There was rustling somewhere to the left, from the position of the gruff lady-raider. Sounded like the used-car-salesman bit was just a stalling tactic. Glancing over at Codsworth, with his buzz-saw and flame-wielding hands, Nora got a tricksy idea of her own.

"Hey!" she hissed, while Mr. Car Salesman prattled on. "Codsworth! You remember issue two-twenty-three of Grognak the Barbarian?"

"I…recall sorting that…object off the coffee table a few times, yes."

"Good. Remember the scene towards the end, where the slavers want to buy Grognak for his mighty muscles, and the Corsair Queen Beltlace agrees to sell him, in a shocking twist? But then she winks at him?" She winked, trying to mimic that particular femme fatal from the comics.

"I have seen that page, yes."

Speaking fast, Nora tried to spell it all out. "So, they give Grognak over to the slavers, but the bindings on his wrists aren't actually tied, and once he's in their midst he throws them off and goes all…all…" She searched for the appropriate word. "…all sickhouse on them, while Beltlace peppers the slavers with arrows, and that's how they beat them!"

Codsworth hovered in silence for a moment. Then his voicebox activated, the tone chiding. "Why you and the good sir had such an interest in entertainment meant for _juveniles_ will always puzzle and perplex me. The pair of you even displayed great culture and taste in other areas-"

"Ugh! I was trying to get you to- oh just forget it!" Too late now: the rusty mussel of one of the rifles was peeking into view, coming round the edge of their cover-boulder.

Do-or-die time. Nora aimed her pistol…

There was noise behind her; scraping leaves and a snarl, followed by a wet, choking sound. Then a gun fired; a thunder-crack behind her and _way_ too close to her ear, but Nora couldn't turn to look, because now the bandit-lady was rolling into view. No choice but to grip Mr. Ten Millimeters, trust in God and Samuel Colt and the spirit of Beltlace the Corsair Queen and whoever or whatever else might be listening, and squeeze-squeeze-squeeze that trigger.

The first shot hit, and the next two missed, but that hardly mattered, since the first bullet had gone clean through the bandit-lady's eye. She flopped over like a sack of potatoes and Nora spun away.

There was a man there —the one who had fired the shot just behind her— but he was on his back, kicking and waving blood-drenched hands all over the place, with a great big fuzzy shape pressed to his chest. Its jaws were clamped to his neck. A dog, Nora realized.

Just past that, a man ran by, arms flailing and flames licking their way up his jacket as Codsworth floated along behind him, gingerly applying his flamethrower. A carefully-placed bullet from Nora brought the burning man down, and that seemed to be that for the three raiders. The dog let its prey drop, shuddering and bleeding out, from its jaws, looking up to Nora. Its eyes were big and curious.

Nora gave the animal, with its blood-soggy mussel and unkempt coat, a wary look of her own. "So uh…Dogmeat?"

At the sound of his name, Dogmeat cocked his head.

"You um…you came to rescue us?"

The dog did not respond. Instead, he padded forward –away from the twitching man he had just savaged– looked to the northeast, and pointed.

"So…we keep going that way?"

Dogmeat kept pointing. _Yes. Dummy._

* * *

The quest to find the two cowgirls didn't last much longer. Far shorter than Grognok's quest for the three muses, at the least. Instead of being scattered to the three elemental realms of Fire, Water, and Salt, the cowgirls were camped out in front of a dilapidated house on the edge of Concord. The riflewoman was stirring the embers of their campfire, while the redhead was passed out on her back, fully clothed and partly covered by a sheet of burlap. Their brahmin was hitched nearby.

As Nora approached (racing and huffing), the riflewoman gave her a curious look. "Something wrong?"

A few vigorous nods. Took her a bit to catch her breath. "It's- it's Sanctuary Hills! It got attacked by bandits! A bit after…after you left." As those words came tumbling out of Nora's mouth, she started to feel a bit silly. The caravaners _had_ left them, after all. Would they even care to come back and-

Petra shot to her feet, swinging her rifle from her lap and onto her shoulder. "Ain't that always the way?" She turned towards the road. "Alright. A small town shootout it is." She clapped her hands. Looked almost excited.

 _Whew! Thank God!_

But Petra had only taken a couple of steps forward before her decisive look wavered, replaced by an ' _Oh whoops, I left the stove on didn't I?_ ' kind of face instead. She glanced over to her unconscious friend, and cringed. "Shit." Stepping up, she nudged Rose-of-Sharon-What's-Her-Name with the toe of her boot. "Cass? Cass! Wake the hell up!" She got louder. "Wake the hell up, you goddamn stinking drunk! We've got shitheads to hunt!"

As Petra nudged and shouted abuse, Codsworth floated in and tried to help as well. He extended his pincer arm, clamped it on Cass's shoulder, and shook her. "Wakey, wakey!" When that didn't work, he reared back and emitted an ear-splitting, air horn-like sound from his voicebox.

No good. Cass was dead to the world.

"Oh dear," Codsworth muttered. "That always works for the sir and mum."

Petra stepped back. "She won't be up for hours. Damn." A shake of her head, then she met Nora's eyes. "Time was, I'd rush off to rescue a town from raiders without a second thought, but seems I've got responsibilities now. Like babysitting her drunk ass and protecting the brahmin. All sorts of stuff out there that might eat them both if we just leave her to sleep this one off." Petra shook her head, looking down at her friend. "Hell. Time was, Cass could get loaded up on whiskey till her blood was flammable, but she'd still be able to march for days at a time. Guess you never see the line between high-functioning alcoholic and sloppy-ass drunk until it's been crossed." Then she paused, bit her lip, and added. "Uh. Don't ever tell her I said any of that."

"Of…of course not." But what could they do- Oh! "Babysitting!" Nora pointed to her robot. "Codsworth's an excellent babysitter! He can watch over your friend! And your cow."

"Hm. That'd work."

"Mum," Codsworth cut in, "I would much prefer to follow you. After all-"

"I'll be fine," Nora insisted. "And I'll be right back."

"But…this slovenly woman has only herself to blame for her-"

"Codsworth! I **order** you to guard this passed out drunk lady and her baggage cow!"

 **"[][]VOICE PATTERN RECOGNIZED! SENTRY MODE ACTIVATED![][]** Oh, very well then mum. But you do be careful."

"Of course."

"Good killbot," Petra said, turning back to the road. Then, without further ceremony, she took off running.


	6. Stick 'Em Up

**6 – Stick 'Em Up**

Nora had to pump her arms and legs to keep up, and as they raced across the shattered asphalt she grew acutely aware that Dogmeat was running at her heels, panting away.

Dogmeat: the animal that she had _just_ seen rip out the throat of another human being. _Ulp! Alright Nora. Try not to think about the fact that you're being chased by a killer dog who may now have a taste for human flesh! Dogs can smell fear, after all._

Of course, trying _not_ to think just made it all worse. _On the other hand, he_ did _save me, didn't he? He knows who the bad guys are (I hope…) And Mama Murphy did say that he's a good judge of character. Maybe his brain's mutated and he's super-intelligent and…_

"How many raiders are we talking?" Petra asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Eighteen… _*puff*_ or so. Looked… _*oof*_ …looked like that many when they were all lined up. Me and Codsworth got a few though. And maybe we * _puff_ *… led some more away, when we went looking for you."

"Any of them have grenade launchers? Hate those things."

"I…I don't think so. It was all just…* _puff_ *… pipe guns, I think?"

"Good. So we just-" All of a sudden Petra's boots skidded to a halt, stopping just as suddenly as she had taken off. Nora stumbled and bumped into the other woman's back, but Petra didn't even seem to notice.

 _Oof!_ Solid as a brick wall.

Petra raised a hand, head high and swiveling, almost like she was scenting the breeze. "Alright. Quiet as a mouse, now," she whispered, as if that explained anything. "And follow my lead." With that, the gunwoman turned from the road and slipped down through the brush, finding a tree to position herself behind.

The dog seemed to understand, even if Nora didn't. He slinked at Petra's heels, body bent low.

Trying to follow and imitate them, Nora cringed at every crackle and snap that her footsteps made on the gravely embankment, and then on the forest floor beyond. Selecting a petrified tree that seemed pretty wide, she ducked in behind it, kneeling and scrunching up. _There_. A hidey-spot.

Petra shot her a smile, along with a thumbs up, and after that they watched the road in silence. Waiting followed. Then more waiting. Then even more. What had Petra even seen out there?

Evvventually, the sound of scuffing feet came drifting down the road. A lot of feet too, hustling on towards their position, and then a procession of scruffy people with elaborate hairdos appeared around the bend. Nora's heart and stomach both sank at the sight of the dozen or so bandits; a little singed and obviously trying to get away from something, but mostly unscathed. Mama Murphy was stumbling along in their midst, her head down and her face blank, and there was no sign of the others. Had Sanctuary Hills been wiped off the map? Or were these folks retreating from Preston and his laser gun? Hard to tell.

"Careful!" she heard Murphy snap as the procession neared. "These old bones ain't what they used to be. I'm no good to you if I break like a dry twig, now am I?" The only response she got was a lot of bitter grumbling.

Petra disengaged from her tree, all casual like, straightened her hat, and then stomped on up the embankment. She kept her rifle slung over her shoulder, drawing a different weapon instead —a massive hand cannon of a pistol that glinted all shiny and chrome in the morning light, and Nora could almost swear, as she heard the gun's hammer cock, that the noise was accompanied by a few twangy notes of music. Sounded like the intro from a western gunfight scene. Showdown at high noon! (Well, technically it was about six-thirty in the morning, but…)

All of the raiders swung around. Petra clearly had the drop on them, but instead of shooting first she just took aim and announced: "This here is an old fashioned stickup! You know the drill folks! Hands in the air!"

No one obeyed. In fact, the raider with the pinched-up face, who Nora had seen earlier, leveled his shotgun on Petra, laughing a 'You-have- _got_ -to-be-kidding-me' sort of a laugh.

 _KRA-BANG!_

The hand cannon thundered and the shotgun snapped in two, flying up and out of the man's hands. He stumbled back with a pained gasp.

More bangs followed –muted and feeble compared to the sound of the chrome pistol– as a pair of raiders shot back. The bullets zipped through the space where Petra had just been, but now the gunslinger was a blur, coat billowing as she rolled across the street, popped up, and squeezed off two more shots. _KRA-BANG! KRA-BANG!_

Steel screamed and wood shattered, the pipe pistols seeming to explode in the raiders' hands, and then the man and woman were screaming too, shallow cuts welling up across their faces and arms where the shrapnel had struck. At the same time a man in clanky armor streaked in from Petra's right, low to the ground with a lead pipe in hand, intent on flanking and blindsiding her. The pipe whistled by, Petra skipping back to avoid it, and in the same motion she swiveled, a foot catching the man behind the ankle and yanking him off-balance while the butt of her hand canon struck his nose like a sledge. He fell on his back, skidding a few feet across the asphalt before settling in a heap.

A flick of her hand, and Petra caught her pistol's grip and aimed the weapon once again, firing off in the same instant. Another shoddy piece of pipe weaponry blew to pieces, then another, and then an older man was raising a hand grenade over his half-shaved head, starting to pull the pin.

Petra went from a blur of motion to complete, utter stillness, her pistol aimed right at the man with the grenade, and at the same time she spoke rapid-fire: "Woah! Woah! Careful Speedy. Slow down partner. Easy there." Somehow the words all came out as in a running jumble.

The man went very, very still as well, eyes wide as he stared down the barrel of the gun. "You _really_ want to see what happens when I shoot that thing before you can throw it?" Petra asked.

"No, we don't," the tall, redheaded woman who seemed to lead the raiders announced, while the man with the grenade shook his head, absolutely terrified. Turning, the leader-lady addressed her followers. "Lower your weapons. All of you."

In the clear morning light, Nora got a better look at the woman now: hair dyed red, red warpaint over her eyes, and under her leather jacket she wore a fading shirt of about the same color. Red, red, red. Seemed to be a theme.

"You sure boss-?"

"Do it!"

They did.

"Good," Petra said with a smile. "Good. Now don't worry, I'm not going to make you strip buck naked or anything. Not interested in any of your rusty raider shit. Just here to steal back what you stole. An old lady? Really?"

Uncertain of what else to do, Nora slipped out from behind her tree. It occurred to her that she had just been watching everything with her mouth wide open, not even remotely trying to 'follow' Petra's lead. But how the heck would she even begin to do that; zipping around and shooting guns out of people's hands? Dogmeat had apparently thought the same thing. He had just been sitting on his haunches while the scene unfolded, tongue lolling out; a doggy spectator.

Mama Murphy was making a calming gesture towards Petra. "It's alright kid," she said. "I came willingly. Though I wish they had brought my chair like I asked. These old bones just can't handle running on the road no more."

The raider with the pinched-up face grumbled. "Went through enough trouble for the old bag without having to carry her too…"

The red woman was sulking as well, glaring down. "Damnit…" She gritted her teeth. "Just wanted to-"

"To ask me something?" As Murphy spoke she turned around, gradually. Like always, her words came out all slow and drawn out. "That's all that you wanted, right kid?"

The red woman kept glaring at her boots.

"There's more polite ways o' askin,' you know. Ways that don't involve stickin' up a town and getting laser burns for yer troubles. I would'a been willing to help for free. Was no need for all of this."

The red woman's lips twitched, then she shot up straight, a defiant look on her face. "Stockpilers don't **ask** -" she began, and her next words were picked up –as if by reflex– by every single member of her little band. "-WE STOCK AND WE PILE!"

Seemed like some sort of weird credo. Nora found herself fighting the urge to shout "HOOAH!" in response.

"Stockpile any jet?" Mama Murphy asked.

"Of course."

Slow and tortuous-like, the old woman turned back to look at Petra. There was a gleam in her eye. "Do you mind if we pause this little rescue for just a moment, dear?"

Petra snorted. She still had her hand cannon leveled on the raiders. "Eh. Sure. My arm's not getting tired."

The red-painted woman was reaching, very slow and carefully, into a jacket pocket. She pulled out some sort of asthma inhaler. Petra watched her do it; the pistol a hovering, silent threat.

The raider with the pinched-up face was watching too, looking sour. "Red, are you really going to give her-"

"It's how her visions work," 'Red' snapped. With a flick of her wrist, 'she tossed the inhaler at Mama Murphy.

Nora cringed, assuming the old woman would get beaned in the head, but instead Murphy's hand shot up and caught the vial, suddenly spry as a woman half her age. Gingerly, she drew the inhaler to her lips, depressed it, and took a long puff. A giddy shiver ran through her shoulders. "Whew! Now that's the stuff!"

Pinched-Face was looking more skeptical than ever. After a pause he cleared his throat, but Murphy spoke before he could.

"You seek your sister, don't you?" Mama Murphy asked, her head bobbing and swaying as she talked –all animated– though her words were as slow and drawn out as ever. "Lily is her name. Her hair white as her namesake. I see her. Calm and peaceful like, kept safe in an old brew vat. She's floating and she's bobbing. And there's a man, tall as a tower and broad as a barn. Writtin' letters and signing Lily's name to 'em, the phony!" She shook herself, opening her eyes. Red had been scowling the whole time, teeth bared. "Sorry to be the barer of bad news, kid," Mama Murphy added.

"That bastard!" Red snarled. "That absolute bastard! Tower Tom's paying for this!" She turned to her people. "Alright, we march on the brewery and-"

"Hold up," Pinched-Face objected. "We're already down a ton of bullets, Mic, Snapper and Chalk got burnt by that damn laser, and my gun's been blown to smithereens. This obsession of yours-"

"Obsession of _mine_?" Red whirled, advancing on the little man and glaring down. _"Mine?!_ " She surveyed her followers. "Shouldn't it be an obsession of _ours_?! Or have you all forgotten everything that Lily's done for you slag-brains?" She pointed to one of them. "If it weren't for Lily, you'd still be in debt to Smilin' Ron, wouldn't you?" Next, she trained her finger on one of the women. "And Charlotte here would be ghoul food. And you, Snapper; you'd be missing a foot!" Back to Pinched-Face. "Last I checked you weren't the leader here, Spade. Last I checked, our leader was Lily Tourette, and we all owe her some bloody revenge!"

"Uh…yeah." Pinched-Face (or Spade or whatever) gave Red a pensive nod. "But we at least need-"

"We'll sweep the river and pick up Sully and the others," Red talked over him. "Then we head back to the Stockpile to arm the fuck up. We'll march on the brewery with everything we have, and hit 'em at night! And we _are_ hitting them. Hard! Got it?"

"Urm. Yes."

With that, Red gathered up her followers and started for the woods. Before she disappeared, she glanced back over her shoulder, eyes narrow, and gave Mama Murphy the slightest of nods. Then they were gone.

 _Hoo boy. 'Sully and the others.'_ Hopefully these revenge-happy raiders would miss the trail of bodies that Nora, Codsworth, and Dogmeat had left behind. Or at least not put the pieces together.

"Nice when a big impassioned speech stops everyone from going all violent, isn't it?" Petra remarked, using her teeth to pull a cigarette from her pack while she holstered her pistol with the other hand. Once again, Nora thought she heard a faint twang.

"Uh. Yeah. I guess."

Petra lit up and took a puff. "Ah. Nothing like that post-Mexican-standoff cigarette." Seemed like she was having a grand old tim.e

They made their way down the road once again, and as they escorted the old woman back to the (damaged, but thankfully not razed) settlement, Nora couldn't help but stare, while Mama Murphy just hobbled along, quiet for the most part. Somehow, as if by magic, the old bat had known everything about that Red-raider-lady. Before she even spoke. Known that Red was looking for her sister. And where that sister was.

When they first met, Nora had just assumed that this was a rambling old crazy lady, but now…

Shaun. Diamond City. Tenuous, but it was something.

* * *

"Hey, uh…Ms. VanBuran..?" It was a bit intimidating to ask, especially after what Nora had seen the woman do on the road.

"Yeah?" Petra was heading back towards the bridge now, off to look after her drunk friend, and Nora followed on her heels. Had to at least get her robot. The dog had stayed behind, curling up at Mama Murphy's feet once she returned to her comfy chair.

"Your caravan…" Nora said.

"If you could call it that."

"Yeah, well. Your caravan is going to…the city? This uh…Diamond City?" She wondered if the whole place was made of crystals or something.

"Sure. Seems like the happening spot in the region. Like Rivet City, down south. We just came up from there."

"Can I…uh…"

"Tag along? That's what you're asking?"

"Yeah…"

"Sure."

 _Whew! Well that was easy._ Now she just had to run and get her…well, nothing really. It occurred to Nora that, beyond the pistol, her wrist computer, and the jumpsuit on her back, she had no worldly possessions to speak of. Maybe that was a good thing. Travel light and all that.

They headed on down the road.


	7. Zombies Too!

**Author's Note:** Wherein we learn, in case there was still any doubt, that Nora is a massive nerd.

 **7 - Zombies Too?!**

"Hu…" Nora panted. "Hu…" Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide as saucers. "Hu…ho…"

"You ain't gonna keel over, are ya?" Cass asked, terse as ever. Smoke wafted up from the muzzle of her shotgun, pointed at the rickety little shack in front of them. They stood in a sun-dappled forest.

"If you are," Petra added, "best make sure it's one of those lady-like swoons. Don't want you hitting your head." Her giant chrome pistol was letting off a plume of smoke as well, and for extra effect she gave it a little carnival twirl.

"Ho…holy…"

Scratching and rattling sounded from the shack. "And here comes the rest of 'em,.."

With a crack the old screen door of the shack flew open, and out charged a gaunt, wrinkled figure, loping on all fours like some sort of manic, stick-figure gorilla. It flew across the dirt and the dead leaves, faster than it had any right to, springing into the air and stretching out claw-like fingers aimed at Cass's head.

Time seemed to slow, every detail of the stringy monster burning into Nora's retinas as she watched in helpless horror: the wide, toothless mouth with withered gums and flapping lips, the creature's cataract-white eyes, its sinewy, withered limbs, and its cracked, prune-like skin. The thing was dressed in stained underpants and a tattered V-neck halter, and although its body was mostly wrinkles and bones, there was a hint of saggy breasts under the big V.

This thing had been…had been a woman once?! _No way!_

Then the creature's head exploded from a pointblank blast of Cass's shotgun and time flew forward again.

The headless monster ragdolled on by, more of the creatures erupted from the doorway of the shack (there had to be a big cellar or cave or something down there; no way they had all clown-carred up inside that tiny house itself), and Petra's hand cannon thundered, severing twiggy limbs and sending creatures skidding across the ground. One of the things managed to frog-hop and land right in front of Petra, hissing, but a clubbing blow from the butt of her pistol turned that hiss into a yelp, and the follow-up shot blew the thing's chest apart.

Another monster skidded and tried to dash to the side and out of the line of fire, only to stumble into Codsworth and his spinning blade. The things didn't bleed much — just leaked some sort of yucky white gunk, even when they were being dismembered.

Once all of the monsters that had burst out from the shack were twitching on the ground, Nora finally managed to breathe again. "Holy moley!"

Cass gave her a level look. " _That's_ what you were trying to say? Not ' _holy shit_!' or ' _holy ballsacs_!' or maybe ' _holy fuck-gerbils_!'? You really need to expand your vocabulary."

Ignoring her, Nora pointed at the mangled creatures. "Th-those were zombies!"

"Eh?" Petra looked confused. "No. Ghouls."

Nora's jaw widened. "Ghouls?!" That sounded even worse than zombies. "S-so if they touch you…you get paralyzed?" What a horrible fate…

Petra raised an eyebrow. "Uh..what? No." She waved a hand at the mess in front of them. "Ghouls. They're people who got a massive dose of radiation and mutated into…you know…immortal walking-corpse things. Most of them go crazy. Brain damage from the radiation, or maybe some of them just go nuts from living forever. There's a bit of a debate over what makes most of them feral, but there it is."

"Oh…" Nora's cheeks heated up, embarrassed as all get-out. Of course there 'ghouls' didn't have magical paralyzing powers. This was real life, not some game of Wizards and Warriors.

(Right? There sure were a lot of random encounters out here in the Commonwealth forest, with weird monsters and all. Who could blame her for just assuming that she had slipped into a W&W game, just like the ones she had played back in school? And Petra and Cass sure did seem like high level, Chaotic Good NPCs…)

 _Alright Nora! Stop it! Right. Now._ "So…so that's why the settlers joked about me being a _'well-preserved ghoul_ ,' huh?"

"Yup." Cass kept watching the door of the shack, but all was quiet now. "Sometimes you meet ghouls that remember the world before the bombs fell. They're usually pretty badass folks, livin' so long."

Petra chuckled. "Reminds me. Next time we're sitting at the campfire, you ought to tell us some prewar stories."

* * *

Blushing once again, Nora peered down at the warm bottle between her hands. Sunset Sarsaparilla: a real rootin', tootin', cowboy sort of drink. Cass had a bottle of whiskey between her thighs, like always, and Petra was nursing a six-pack of warm beer, the bottles labeled with white tape and markers. Apparently it was from some local brewery they had passed by.

The caravaners had, of course, plied Nora with alcohol, and when she had adamantly refused Cass had asked her _'Are you a Mormon or something?'_

 _'No…but uh…I was taught that Jesus doesn't want me to drink.'_ That seemed to be enough for Cass.

 _'Shame. I've met a few Mormons, and they were pretty badass.'_

So, soft drink in hand, Nora studied her feet and searched her mind for a 'prewar story.' "I really don't know," she finally said. "Life was…well, it was actually pretty boring back then. Get up when the alarm clock rings, eat breakfast, go to work from nine till five. Hm. Maybe that's why there were so many industries that were just there to entertain us."

Cass nodded, enthusiastic-like. "The moving pictures. Always wanted to see one of those."

"Yeah. We had moving pictures in the theaters and on the TVs. We'd all hunker around the TV at night. Or the radio."

Petra chuckled. "The TVs are just hunks of glass now, but we've still got radios."

"I noticed." Nora found herself smiling. "Everyone thought those would go out of style in my day, but they never did. Sometimes they were the most fun, too…"

"Listening to music?" Petra asked. "My old pip-boy would pick up some of that, but damn! Back in Nevada, they only had like…four songs? Total. Played them over and over and over and over."

Nora chuckled, and flicked the knob on her own wrist-computer. Some swinging rock music came on, rattling piano keys and all.

"… _right behind you baby…"_ the man on the radio sang.

"Like this?" Nora asked. "Maybe the DJs around here have a few more records."

"One can hope."

Nora switched her pip-boy off. "My favorite part wasn't the songs. It was the radio dramas. My family used to gather around when I was a kid and listen to them. _Twilight Over Hammer Hall_ , of course, so we could all feel cultured. And there was _Olof the Mighty's Viking Adventures._ Those were fun. And then there's my favorite: _The Silver Shroud._ "

"Ha!" Cass exclaimed. "I read some of those comics. Some sort of magic gangster who shot other gangsters, right?"

"Um. Something like that." Nora drew in a deep breath, and then deepened her voice. " _When evil walks the streets of Boston, one man lurks in the shadows! Shielding the innocent. Judging the guilty. That guardian is…The Silver Shroud!_ " She switched back to her regular voice. "Those were the best."

Cass elbowed Petra. "Sounds like a kindred spirit, eh? Going around, shooting up bad guys and saving the town? Course you never mastered that 'lurking in the shadows' business."

"Wish I had."

Another poke, and Cass gave Nora a mischievous look across the campfire. "There's this whole band of tribals in Utah who worship her as their 'Ebon War-Goddess.' After she saved them from the Legion. They've got these statues of her and everything, with a rifle, a cowboy hat, and gigantic gazongas." For emphasis she made a gropey gesture with both hands.

Petra rolled her eyes. "And _that's_ one of the many reasons I moved east."

"The legend's gonna follow you eventually."

"Maybe not if I start wearing a mask or something. Maybe do a voice. How did this Silver Shroud fellow sound, anyway?"

Nora cleared her throat, and tried to make her voice all raspy. "' _Death has come for you, evil-doer! And I…am it's Shroud!_ ' Something like that." She laughed. "I pretty much had every episode memorized."

Petra's eyes widened. "Memorized, huh?"

"Uh…well…"

"Come on then! Let's hear one! What could make for a better 'old world story,' eh?"

"Uh…alright. Let me think." Nora coughed again, then deepened her voice and made it a little nasal, like the radio announcer guy. "Today's episode: _A Slaying in Scollay Square._ "

Next, she change her voice, trying to sound like a generic man. "Just down this alley…"

And then she switched to her best _femme fatal_ voice: "Well, well, well. Looks like someone got lost on the wrong side of the tracks…"

On the other side of the fire, the caravaners were riveted. Nora carried on, one voice following the next and then the next, along with a _putta-putta-putta_ sound-effect when it came time for the bullets to fly.

* * *

 _"Rocket sixty-nine, rocket…six-ty-nine…"_

Nora frowned down at her pip-boy as the music blared and the broken highway passed by under her feet. Seemed like they had been playing this very song just five minutes ago. "A shame there's just the classical station and this oldies channel," she muttered. "Would be nice to hear something modern." By 'modern,' she was thinking stuff like _Trace Lee Robinson_ or _Billy and the Bobcats_ , but, as usual, she had forgotten about the whole two-hundred-years-in-crio-sleep thing.

"Hells yeah," Cass growled. "I miss the radio stations out of the Hub and the Boneyard. They'd play some real modern shit, like _Blastoff Jenny and the Motherships, Karma to Burn,_ or _Bloodbag Max and the Half-Life Boys._ Not to mention all those all-ghoul atomic-fusion metal bands. Those were the best."

"Well, maybe there's something better on," Nora said, starting to fiddle with her pip-boy's knob. There was a high pitched buzz and the music died, replaced by the whir and ping of static. For a moment she thought she heard a voice (something about karate and voodoo), but that blurred out. She pursed her lips and kept tuning.

More buzzing, whirring, and crackling, and then, with a sudden clarity, a voice came over the radio, so close-sounding that Nora's heart jumped. " _Automated message repeating_ ," it said. " _This is scribe Haylen of Recon Squad Gladius to any unit in transmission range. Authorization: arcs, ferro, nine-five. Our unit has sustained casualties, and we're running low on supplies. We're requesting support or evac from our position, at Cambridge police station_."

Petra snorted and hefted her rifle, and the barrel clicked against her shoulder. "Now that's my kind of music!"

Beside her, Cass cringed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ugh. Really?"

"First rule of the Wasteland: always answer distress signals!" Petra waved her rifle. "Come on."

Cass was skeptical. "Uh. I think it's an actual, genuine, written-out rule in the _Wasteland Survival Guide_ that you _don't_ ever answer distress signals. It's on page fourteen. ' _Nine times out of ten, the distress signal is a deadly trap_.'"

"I like them odds! And hey, it's a Brotherhood message. Maybe they're all dead by now, and they left a bunch of free, super-sciencey salvage lying around? Or they're alive, and they'll be grateful when we haul their asses out of the fire! It's a win-win!"

"Did you learn _nothing_ from that signal from the _Sierra Madre_?"

"I learned how to haul a fuckton of gold bars out of an exploding building! It all worked out in the end."

Cass shook her head. "So…if the Brotherhood unit is dead," she pointed out, "whatever killed a bunch of power armored mega-warriors will be standing over their corpses…"

"Exactly!" Petra seemed to really be enjoying herself. "Nice salvage, _and_ thrills! Again: it's a win-win." She spun around on the road, then frowned, looking down each side of the pock-marked hill they had been walking across. "Uh…so where is the Cambridge police station anyway?"

Looking around for half a second, Nora noticed the nearby skyline and pointed. "That's Cambridge over there." It was hard to tell where she was, sometimes (what with the world being all gray and wrinkled and garbage-strewn and full of dirty people and atomic monsters), but this particular street and intersection was vaguely familiar. Her aunt had lived in Cambridge, after all, and she had visited sweet old Stella a lot (…before the bombs fell…)

Nodding, Petra whirled and started down the hillside. "Alright then."

Cass grumbled. "You and your detours." Of course, she didn't sound all _that_ annoyed. As the three women, their wobbling cow, and their floating robot made their way down the hill, the automated message repeated on the radio. "Wish they'd tell us exactly _what_ has them pinned down at the station."

"Yeah. Could be anything. Maybe we'll stumble onto a bunch of broken suits of powered armor in a parking lot, and everything will be quiet. And then… _bam!_ The biggest radscropion we've ever seen will burst right out of the pavement!" Petra skidded down onto a level path, dodging past obstacles as she made a bee-line for the dead, looming city.

"Oh," Codsworth complained. "That sounds most horrid!"

"Hm. Or maybe," Petra went on, sounding like she was having the time of her life, "one of those super-sized super mutants will come thundering out from between the buildings, using the arm of a steam-shovel for a club! And we'll have to run and gun the giant down!"

There was a gasp from Codsworth's vocabulator. "More horrid still!"

Reaching a street, Petra slowed and then skidded to a stop. She raised an arm. "Watch out for the land mines."

"Uh…" _How exactly do you watch..._ but then Nora saw them: little disks tossed willy-nilly across the pavement.

"Looks like someone wanted to…" Petra began, but then she shook her head. "Oh. I see."

Nora didn't, at least at first. And then there came a sound, from every open window and car and crack and cranny in the city before them: a low, crackling, inhuman groan. Limbs shivered in the shadows. Gaunt, wrinkly bodies uncoiled. Ragged, necrotic mouths lolled open, and then, as one, the swarm of zombies came crawling and pattering and snarling and snatching and pouring out of the shadows: an inhuman wave of hunger and groping death.

"Heh." Petra was nonchalant as ever. "Guess that's what has those Brotherhood folks pinned down. Alight girls (and Codsworth too). Let's light 'em up!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** One of the bands that Cass mentions is actually a real one. I just had to give a little nod to the instrumental, twangy stoner-metal band _Karma to Burn_ , since listening to their discography on an endless loop seems to be part of this fic's writing process. The band's name is vaguely Fallout appropriate, too.


	8. You Look like You Can Handle Yourself

_"Well I know karate! Voodoo too!"_ -Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan, _Going Out West_

 **8 - "You Look Like You Know How to Handle Yourself"**

They were everywhere! Everywhere! And there was no end!

Clawed hands groped for her shoulders, trying to pull her into clamping jaws while croaks and hisses filled her ears. She back-peddled all the while, kicking and clubbing to fight the monsters off, lining up pointblank shot after pointblank shot with her pistol. _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ The muzzle flashed and monster-pulp geysered into the air. Her back pressed against a wall.

It was every zombie movie she had ever seen (or peaked at, through her fingers) and then some! Really…someone deserved an Oscar for best FX makeup here: the gummy, bleeding mouths, the rheumy eyes, the pockmarked leather skin, the rotting clothes; all of it!

 _Although_ , rather than shambling along like zombies should, these things rushed as quick as any carnivore: twitchy-fast, forcing Nora's eyes and reflexes to follow. _Also_ , while most of the monsters had the decency to dress in grimy clothes or tattered underpants, a few of the feral things had come charging around the barricades birthday-bare, withered _parts_ just dangling in the breeze. Now _that_ was something they never showed in the zombie movies that Nora had seen!

Along with the smell. _Argh!_ The smell!

A zombie caught hold of her shoulder, reeling back with a wide open mouth, showing off lopsided and rotting teeth. ( _Eh…_ at least this one was polite enough to wear clothes while it tried to murder and cannibalize the living…) The creature's reeling put enough space between them for Nora to plant her boot to its belly and shove, so she did just that, her hands flying up with her gun clenched between them.

 _BAM!_

The zombie's head snapped back and it tumbled over, limp and lifeless, and Mr. Ten-Millimeter went _click_ , his last bullet spent. _Ack!_

She fumbled for one of the spare clips in the pocket of her jumpsuit, eyes wide as monsters frog-hopped and surged before her. One of the ghouls landed just a pace away, its jaundiced eyes fixed on her neck, arms sweeping out and hissing for extra menace, but before it could pounce a red blast of light and fire swept by, burning through sinew and spine. The creature fell over in two separate pieces, smoke rising.

 _Whew!_ Nora shared a brief look with the man in the T-60 power armor who had just bisected the thing with his laser gun. He gave her a reassuring nod, and then it was back to hammering in a clip and facing the zombie hoard.

The next two monsters that surged in close got a jet of Codsworth's flamethrower for their trouble, the third lost its head to Petra's hand cannon, and then…that was that? Things went quiet.

Nora's eyes swept the square they had holed up in, searching for a twitch and wondering if the creatures would reanimate themselves or something, but nothing moved save Codsworth, who swept in front of her with his eyestalks bobbing. "Are you well, mum? I saw that one of those hooligans shook you! He didn't break anything, I trust?" His robo-claw/hand rested on her shoulder, all gentle and polite.

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking though."

The man in the power armor spoke up, servos whirring as he turned to face Nora and her companions. "We appreciate the assistance, civilians." He wasn't wearing a helmet, and his cap reminded her a bit of one of the rocketeers from _R.A.L.P.H.I.E. the Robot's Incredible Odyssey._ "But do you mind if I ask what your business is here?"

"We're pest exterminators," Petra replied as she holstered her pistol and pulled out a cigarette.

"Yeah," Cass added. "We heard you had a feral problem. Emphasis on the 'had' part (ya damn ingrate)."

"Evading my questions is a surefire way of getting ejected from my compound," the big guy stated ––not huffy or anything, just matter-of-fact. "Are you from a local settlement?"

"Sheesh," Petra said after taking a draw. "Really is an ingrate, isn't he?" She faced the armored man. "Look, Mr. Brotherhood Paladin Dickwad: we're traveling merchants, all the way from California. I'm from a little town called Hopeville, if you really need to know. We picked up your distress signal and came over to help. _Va-bam!_ Lots of dead ghouls, as a result."

"So you know of the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"Yup. Have some friends over in the California chapter. A few good folks, even if most of them are dickwads like you."

"(Such language…)" Codsworth huffed, his vocabulator on a low volume.

The big armored guy seemed to brush it all off, though. "Fair enough. If I appear suspicious, it's because our mission here is proving difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth we've been under constant fire." Behind the rocketeer one of his lightly armored companions ––a woman–– was kneeling beside the other one, tending to the fellow's wounded arm. The pair _did_ look to be in pretty rough shape.

"Yeah." Petra shrugged. "That's the wasteland for you."

"Never a dull moment," Cass added.

"Hm," the man in heavy armor said. "Yes. Well, if you want to continue pitching in-"

"Long as we get paid," Cass interrupted.

"You said you were merchants, yes?"

Petra spoke. "Merchants. Mercenaries. Couriers. Fixers. Investigators. I make a mean wasteland omelet too, if you need a cook."

"Yeah," Cass agreed. "Just don't hire us to fix your damn radio. Can't do shit with machines, the both of us."

The woman bandaging the injured man turned her head at that and spoke up. "That's a shame then. Radio repair is exactly what we need at the moment."

The rocketeer nodded. "In order to make contact with our superiors we need some sort of signal boost. We've determined that there's a deep range transmitter in the area, in the ruins of the old Arcjet facility, but haven't sent a sortie out yet." He faced Petra. "You look like you know how to handle yourself."

Cass laughed. "(Well ain't them the magic words?)"

"Would you be interested in helping me retrieve the device? The Brotherhood would owe you."

Petra pursed her lips, looking on past the rocketeer. "You're holed up in this police station, right?"

"Yes."

"Keep your gratefulness then. I'm more curious as to what's left in the armory. Bullets don't just grow on trees, you know."

* * *

 _'You look like you know how to handle yourself.' Bah!_

Nora was fairly…well, no: she was **one-hundred-and-fifty-freaking-percent certain** that those words did **not** apply to her. Paladin Danse —the armored rocketeer guy— hadn't spared her a glance when he'd said it, after all.

Yet here she found herself, trotting behind the thumbing feet of the big power armor-wearing guy as they raced across the cracked cement, the looming hulk of the Arcjet facility now coming into view. Why the _heck_ hadn't she been left behind to tend to the brahmin? That was the best use of her skillset, all told. Instead, Cass had stayed behind with Veronica in the station garage, and Nora had been sent along to explore some ruins full of radioactive monsters or whatever, all because of her silly wrist-computer.

 _'That old world tech might be able to unlock some doors,'_ Danse had said. Should have shouted _'Fine then! Take it!'_ and thrown the darn thing down at his feet.

Petra seemed to have sensed Nora's jangly nerves, because now she was turning back and shooting her a reassuring (though slightly yellow-toothed) smile. "We'll be fine. Between you, your pet robot, the guy in powered armor, and me, we'll be able to take on anything in these ruins!"

"Uh…okay…"

"And maybe the ruins'll be completely empty, we'll just grab the techno-thingy, and that'll be that. No raiders or monsters or super mutants or killer robots or anything. It can happen."

"It can?"

"Nope." Still smiling, Petra looked ahead. "There's always something. Every freaking ruin, there's _always_ something lurking."

"Would you _please_ stop trying to hurt the moral of our unit?" the paladin guy snapped over his shoulder.

"Hey, I'm just being realistic." They climbed the hill, nearing the rusty and moss-caked walls of the facility. A big place, ominous and broodingly silent. No zombies came streaming out to greet them, at least at first.

* * *

And, lo and behold, the ruins did indeed seem to be empty once they got inside, creeping from one room to the next. The place had a colorful, art deco feel to it; clean and bright save for the trash on the floor and the water-damaged spots where the walls were starting to fall apart.

"This would actually make for a nice home," Petra whispered as they went. "Wonder what kept squatters out?"

"Security bots?" Danse suggested.

"Then where are they?"

They found the answer in the very next chamber: a banged-up little maintenance corridor lined with smashed protectrons and the remnants of a robot that Nora didn't recognize. Apparently Petra didn't either. "What kind of 'bot is this?" the gunslinger asked, standing over the remains. It looked a lot like a human skeleton, though the joints were obviously mechanical and the bones were made of carbon fiber, pocked with burn-holes from the protectrons' lasers. There were some weird machines attached to its chest and belly that looked like faux organs. Definitely didn't seem like anything off the Robco assembly line.

"That's an institute synth," Danse muttered, shaking his head. "A proto-android, without the carbon dermis that they use to pass as human. It's a fresh kill, too. Looks like we aren't the only ones after the tech here."

"Androids huh? Can they be reasoned with? Maybe if we explain to them about this emotion called love-"

"These things are abominations!" Danse bristled. "The Brotherhood destroys them on sight."

Petra snorted. "Yeah, yeah. I know all about your Brotherhood and their thing with 'abominations against nature.'" She glared at Danse and he gave her a questioning look back. "My friends in the Brotherhood back in Cali were 'abominations' too, 'cause they were women who fancied each other way more than they fancied breeding the next generation of little metalheads. Nicest pair of tribadists you've ever met too, but did the Brotherhood care? (Alright…'nicest' might not be the best word here. The bald, mute one was kind of a bitch…)"

Nora's brow furrowed. _Triba-? Oh!_ Yeah. She recognized that word from case law: a reference to an act between two women that was technically still illegal in most states (though everyone rolled their eyes at that these days…urm…and the bombs falling kind of made all those grey laws obsolete). Her cheeks went furnace-hot at the realization and she looked at Petra in a bit of a new light: all muscular and statuesque and brusque and manly and _'partnered'_ with Cass and such. Pieces fell into place.

"Oh," Nora also said out loud. "So you and Cass are…darn! I should have realized. Just want you to know that-"

"What?" Petra had already started for the next room, but now she looked back over her shoulder. "No. Bah!" She made a dismissive gesture. "People always hear the 'cowgirl' thing and the word 'partners' and they jump straight to some conclusion right out of a New Reno porno. No. We're partners like Butch and Sundance, thank you very much."

They entered the next room: a big wide office space with a reinforced door up at the other end. "I mean…sure, after about three drinks Cass'll start hitting on _everyone_ : women, men, occasionally robots, but that's never been my thing. (Women, I mean. There was that one robot…)" Reaching the big reinforced door, she poked at it. "How do you open this damn thing anyway?"

"That's a…sensible question," Danse muttered. Looked like he had turned a bright shade of red as well. "Much more important than hearing about your love lives, a subject I _really_ didn't need to know about and have _absolutely_ no opinion on one way or the other." He turned to Nora. "Perhaps you could assist with the door?"

Eager to help, Nora plugged her wrist-computer into the locking mechanism. That proved anticlimactic and pointless, but a quick perusal of some of the terminals unearthed the most recent password for the lock. Apparently it had been emailed around a lot. Some real tight security here at Arcjet. Yep!

"There!" With a keystroke the door swished open, clean as you please…

…and then, just like with the lanky flesh-rot-zombies at the shack and then in Cambridge, horrors came pouring out of the doorway; animated creatures that had no business being animated and moved _way_ too fast. They were thinner even than the ghouls had been, and quicker on their feet; jointed skeletons of carbon, steel, and chrome, skulls agleam and armored limbs pumping, every one of them armed with batons that buzzed and crackled.

"Shit!" Petra hissed, aiming her pistol. The muzzle flashed and the first bullet tore a clean hole through one of the weird exposed organs on a robot's chest, but the thing didn't even slow!

Next, Danse's riffle thrummed with a blast of red-hot light, burning a hole clean through the head of a skeleton and sending it lurching back and over. A bit better, killing one of them, but that was just one skeleton out of ten charging. There were leering skulls and raised batons and flailing limbs everywhere now!

Backing away, Nora did the only thing she could think to: raise Mr. Ten Millimeter and shoot as fast as she could. The muzzle barked and the bullets flew, _ping-ping-pinging_ off metal limbs and torsos to no effect.

Codsworth tried to help, his flamethrower roaring and fire arching in, but one of the skeletons charged right through the jets, leapt a desk, and then a baton was blazing with the smell of ozone and the promise of pain right there in front of Nora's crossed eyes. Codsworth had just heated the metal up, so if it touched her… _yowch!_

 _BOOM!_ A blast from Petra's hand-cannon shattered the robot's knee and it buckled and fell. A brief reprieve; next thing it did was start to crawl towards Nora, baton sizzling against the floor as she shrieked and retreated like some girly girl on a sitcom who had just spotted a rat. She even leapt up on a nearby chair, wobbling for balance.

Of course, _unlike_ those girlie girls, she aimed her gun down and shot at the darn thing. Hopefully a bullet to the head would stop it. No dice, just more _pinging_ , the shots ricocheting off its back while it kept crawling along. _Somehow_ , over the buzz of the shock-batons and the hiss of Danse's laser rifle and the wine of servos and her own panicked screams, Nora heard Petra slam her pistol back into its holster and mutter to herself:

"Fuck this."

Nora's heart just about stopped. The irritated contempt in that swear! Was…was this too much for _Petra_?! Was she going to turn tail and run?! After all they had been through?! Was…was this really some sort of Omega-Level threat that even a gunslinger…The Gunslinger…couldn't handle?

Doomed! They were doomed!

A metallic, understated _ting_ echoed through the office space, followed by a lot of whirring and grinding sounds. Petra's coat was flapping now: a blur of navy blue and brown, rushing through the room, and it seemed that —absurd as it seemed— the woman's fists were flying and whirling, hook-punches catching one robot jaw after the next, knocking the skeletal things off their feet.

A flying kick sent one of the 'bots sailing over a desk, and Petra leapt to follow, hopping up and stomping on the thing's chrome skull when she landed. Another leap, another swing, and then she sent the next skeleton/robot spinning and then dropping like a punch-drunk boxer.

The 'bots were scattered across the floor now, and the sound of grinding gears and servos filled the air. They shuddered, shook, and struggled, then one fell silent, then the next and the next, and lastly Petra's foot came down on the neck of the thing that was crawling over Nora, eliciting a buzzing crunch. In a moment there were no more whirs, and it seemed to be over.

Petra had bent over, panting, and Nora noticed a set of brass knuckles gleaming on her fist, splattered with oil. "There," Petra breathed, straightening and rubbing her hands together. "Damn bullets weren't getting the job done. Hate it when that happens."

Danse was staring at her, rifle hanging almost forgotten between his hands and an incredulous look on his face. "Bullets weren't working so…you decided to punch them? As if that would work _better_?"

"Well it did, didn't it?"

"Apparently." Danse straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. "How in the world-?"

"Anti-robot kung fu. One of the many techniques I learned from a certain Brotherhood scribe, even though she'd been discounted from her family because of her preference for the ladies. She had a lot to teach, but-"

"Alight! Alright! Point taken! Can we get on with the mission now?" (He grumbled a bit more after that, though the only words that Nora caught were _'as if I…'_ )

"Yeah. Sure." Petra approached the open doorway, putting the set of brass knuckles back in her jacket but keeping her fists balled, close to both her pocket and her holstered gun. Looked the very picture of _ready-for-anything._ "Just be prepared for more 'bots."

Before they followed, Danse shared a look with Nora, eyebrows raised as if silently asking: _'Uh…can you explain this woman to me?'_

She couldn't. They moved on.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Yes, they named their brahmin Veronica.

And there will eventually be a big reveal/plot twist that explains why Petra is such an over-the-top Combat Sue. Originally my thinking was just: "Well, the Courier in the game can do all this crazy stuff, so…" but I've decided since then that there needs to be an explanation for *why* the Courier is such a badass.

A cookie to anyone who guesses the plot twist ahead of time!


	9. Big Choices and Visceral Combat

**Author's Note:** Muchas gracias to the guest reviewer who left a review en español! Really appreciate it. And, of course, a big thanks to everyone else who has been kind enough to leave reviews!

* * *

 **9 - Big Choices and Visceral Combat**

Darn it if the basement of the Arcjet facility wasn't the spookiest place Nora had ever seen. Spooky quiet. Spooky dark. Spooky standing around at the bottom of the stairs with a _freakin'_ _rocket engine_ hanging over your head, the floor all sprinkled with ashes. Spooky all around.

So, when they stumbled onto the creepy holotape-ravings of a madman, over in a side room that looked to be some kind of control center for the rocket, well, Nora was certainly spooked, but not surprised. The voice on the tape went on and on about how he was smarter than the college educated dweebs who did the actual rocket science at the facility, and how he was going to show them the true meaning of physics with his homemade 'weaponized refuse accelerator.'

Seemed he had actually built the weapon too: the rusted, gangly thing sat right next to the holotape, along with a dented hardhat and a couple of wrenches. The gun looked a bit like the mutant lovechild of a leaf blower, a trash compactor, and a drag racing engine.

Curious, Nora reached over and flipped the switch at the top of the leaf blower (or 'weaponized refuse accelerator' or whatever you want to call it), and the machine came to life, atomic-powered and still in working order after all these years. _Spooky._ She wondered if the crazy technician really would have gone on an office spree killing if the bombs hadn't dropped. Hopefully not.

 _So how does this thing work anyway?_ There was a sort of drop-box container near the 'muzzle,' with a handle at the top. Pulling it open, Nora slipped one of the wrenches inside, then shut the door. _So, when you pull the trigger it accelerates the-?_

Petra interrupted her thoughts. "Think we're looking for a bigger engine than that." She was walking through the doorway that led deeper in.

"Yeah." Nora turned the odd weapon's motor off, looking back through the Plexiglas window of the control room. There, in the big, open basement area, Danse stood watch, waiting for them to find a power switch so they could take the basement elevator to the top floor. That was where the radio-doohicky that they were searching for was supposedly stored. Dutiful and gruff as always, the big paladin guy stood right under the ominous rocket engine. Nora shuddered and shook her head.

They continued their search through the dust and debris, everything silent save the hum of Codsworth's hover-jet. The generator room was past a bend in a short tunnel, and the power seemed to be controlled by a computer terminal. A little hunting and pecking switched it on, and the whole facility sputtered to life, lights flaring as a computerized voice sounded over the intercom:

 _'Thermal engine fueled and primed. For your own safety, please shut the blast doors.'_

"Hopefully that's got the elevator working," Petra remarked.

Nora turned to follow, but hesitated. Again, she did _not_ like the idea of walking under a frickin' rocket engine, especially one that had just been 'primed.' She resolved to rush through the big basement as quickly as she could.

Sure enough, the little triangle above the basement elevator was flashing away, Petra already marching through the test-vault as Nora entered the control room. Pieces of rusty stairway littered the floor of the main chamber: the reason they hadn't been able to just climb to the top story themselves and needed the elevator. Once again, Nora gave the big rocket engine an apprehensive look, steeling herself.

The machines hummed low now, and the great, open shaft was lit by freshly powered halogen lights, illuminating whole galaxies of drifting dust moats. Nice to have some light, but the place was still spooky. And quiet.

And then, echoing off the concrete walls and ringing through the steel bars of the janky stairways, there came a brand new sound. Scraping. Lots and **lots** of scraping.

Nora, Petra, Danse and Codsworth's eyes shot up to the catwalk, where countless metal forms were _swarming_ , chrome skulls and glass eyes shining down as the androids leaned over the ledges. There was a sort of understated _pff_ ting sound, and beams of white-hot light flashed down from the stairways, one of them piercing the concrete _very_ close to Nora's boot toes and sending up a flare of sparks and a puff of smoke.

"Shhhhheeeee…" she found herself hissing as she tumbled backwards and landed with a painful jolt. "…eeeeesh!" More _pfft_ -sounds echoed and streaks of white-blue rained down. One beam grazed Danse's armor and kicked up sparks, and several blasts burned holes in the floor where Petra had been standing a second ago, all while Nora crab-crawled back through the control room's doorway.

 _Sheesh indeed! Holy sheesh!_ The androids had laser guns now?!

And they weren't just shooting! Skeletal figures dropped down from the catwalk, two-at-a-time and landing on all fours froggy-style before leaping at the nearest target, armed with buzzing batons and claw-like hands.

Two of the things dropped right by Petra and the open elevator door. A pointblank blast from the woman's six-shooter turned the neck of one android into sparking wires, head flopping and body buckling, and Petra managed to catch the wrist of the other bot with her free hand, keeping the baton off. Then two _more_ androids landed and pounced, the four of them all tumbling back through the elevator doors in a tangle of limbs and sparks.

They were swarming Danse as well, metal claws clinging to his armor plates and smoke rising, and then Nora's view of all that was blocked off by a pair of carbon-steel skeletons rushing at her, bumping shoulders as they twisted through the doorway. Their batons buzzed and sizzled.

 _'Thermal engine fueled and primed. For your own safety, please shut the blast doors,'_ the computer repeated.

Nora had managed to get to her feet, scrambling back, hips brushing the banks of a nearby panel and hands rising up to aim her pistol. _Bang!_ The bullet dented steel and did little else. Two more shots put holes through an android's shoulder.

Before the things could leap at her Codsworth swung in to the rescue, his buzzsaw-hand taking a swipe at one of the androids and sending up a shower of sparks. The poor guy caught a bash and a jolt of electricity for his trouble.

Another step back, and Nora's…uh…well…her backside bumped against something on the panel that went click, followed by whirs and grinding sounds. _Not good!_ (As if fretting over how big your bu- _urm_ …that _part_ of your body is wasn't bad enough, the big old body part had to go and accidently flip the switch of some doomsday device?! Ugh!)

A third android had leaned in through the doorway, glassy eyes fixing on Nora, but then a pair of heavy steel doors clanged shut and snapped the thing in two, head and torso dropping to the floor. _'Blast doors closed,'_ the voice of the computer droned.

 _Oh. Maybe that is good._

"Mum!" Codsworth barked. "You must esca- _bzzt!_ " Another swipe from a shock-baton had him careening back, electricity arcing across his chassis. Were his circuits getting fried?!

Nora took aim at the 'droids that were beating on her friend and unloaded the rest of the clip, scoring a few more little pinholes and a shot to one of the robots' hips that made it lurch and jerk, all while she shouted: "Hey! Killbots! Aren't you here to terminate all organic life?! Well it's over here! Quit picking on the metal guy and come try me! I'm as organic as they come!"

The androids obliged, swinging around and giving her their full attention, and she swung around too, racing for the doorway to the next room. _Gotta reload this last clip. Hit and run and-_

The worktable with the weird leaf blower/engine/gun was right there beside her. A swipe of her free hand dragged it off the table, and- _oof!_ It was real darn heavy! She almost pitched over, unthinkingly dropping her gun to grab the leaf blower-thingy with both hands, flipping the power on and lurched along into the tunnel that led to the generator room.

Well, this was a bigger gun than her peashooter, anyway. Maybe it blasted harder too. Or maybe it would make a good club.

Footsteps clunked just behind her. She breathed deep and spun around, smooth as she could, hoisting the massive, ungainly weapon and depressing the trigger on the pistol-grip at the back. The android chasing her hoisted its club two-handed, servos whirring and clawed toes tapping as it charged, though Nora could hardly hear that over the rising _put-put-putter_ of the weaponized refuse accelerator (or her own screams).

A lot of vibrating from the big gun, but it didn't fire. Was it malfunctioning? Was it going to explode?! The skeleton/android loomed, aiming to club her skull in as she banshee-wailed nonsense in its face. Her grip loosened, thinking it might be a good idea to toss the sputtering junk-device and make a desperate dive, but the nanosecond her finger slackened on the trigger it popped free and the machine shuddered and _thrump_ ed. Recoil threw her arms back and just about jolted them out of their sockets as a blur of spinning steel launched from the weapon's muzzle.

There was the briefest whistling sound, then an ear-piercing metallic clang, followed by a little _ping_ and a hollow _ding_ as the android's head flew off its shoulders, chin striking the close ceiling of the tunnel. The severed head ricocheted to strike the floor with force, flew up again, put another dent in the ceiling, and then smacked into the second android that had come lurching into the tunnel, sending it crashing against the far wall. The headless portion of the robot belly flopped and skidded across the concrete, an elbow striking Nora's boot ( _yowch!_ ) and then spinning away to careen from wall to wall like an air hockey puck.

 _Okay. That was_ way _more effective than a bullet!_

No time to celebrate, though. The android with the damaged hip was recovering and starting to hobble towards her again, it baton still buzzing. She needed more refuse to fire!

Down by her feet, Nora spotted a black cylinder. Seemed the electro-clubs collapsed for easy storage and stopped flaring when the handle wasn't being held. It was longish, but it looked like it would fit in the refuse loader, so she plucked it up and plopped it in, shutting the cover and aiming her weapon at the hobbled android.

Squeezing the trigger made the refuse accelerator buzz and shake again, the tone rising and rising as Nora hefted and aimed. She was _maybe_ getting the idea now. Pressing the trigger powered up the kinetic energy or whatever, and releasing-

She let go and a black streak zipped out from the muzzle, fast and heavy as a ballista bolt. Recoil wasn't _too_ bad, now that she knew it was coming and had braced herself, and the shaft of black steel punched clean through the metal tubes and knobs that made up the android's faux organs.

The android shook and took another step, faltering and shaking as the baton —now stuck deep in its torso— was ground between gears or servos or robo-parts or whatever. A foot rose, couldn't make it to the floor, and then the whole machine pitched over, face first, black fluids leaking on the concrete and every motion just making it shudder more and more until it clunked out and went still.

 _Whew._ Nora started back for the control room, lugging her new weapon along and giving the (hopefully) dead 'droid as wide a berth as the tunnel would allow.

The lightshow on the other side of the Plexiglas viewing window was something else: streaks of blue light strobing through the basement to burst in clouds of sparks, punctuated by blasts of red-hot fire from Danse's rifle as the paladin fought back. The poor fellow's armor was dented and smoking, several 'droids clinging onto his arms and shoulders as he tried to shake them off and line up pointblank shots.

Smoking husks of robot lay strewn across the basement floor, but there were still far too many of the dern things standing upright, the bots with guns lined up by the opposite wall from Danse and firing nonstop. The beams kept striking the walls and floor near the paladin, for whatever reason. Seemed like they were hemming him in, and not risking hitting their buddies. Regardless, it didn't look like Danse would last long.

' _Blast doors closed. Thermal engine fueled, primed, and standing by for your command._ '

"Mum!" Codsworth exclaimed, floating close. "The engine! You see it, don't you?" His gripper-hand was pointing at a prominent red button in the middle of the control panel. Would have been easy enough to figure out its purpose, even without the _'Engine Start'_ label stenciled below.

Numbly, Nora nodded and stretched her hand out. Danse dropped to one knee, smoke wafting up from his soot-streaked armor. Right under the rocket engine, surrounded by all the robots…

"Mum?"

Nora withdrew her hand. "No. We can't."

"Mum, insuring your safety is my prime directive, thus I must-"

"No!" Her finger flicked across the switch that she had bumped into earlier, and sure enough the steel doors swished open.

 _'Warning!'_ the computerized voice whined. _'Warning! Blast doors ajar! Blast doors ajar!'_

"Codsworth! Help me find some junk! That's an order!"

 **"[][]ORDER RECEIVED[][]** " He switched back to his butler voice. "Yes mum."

No shortage of debris to be found in here. There were fractured shavings of concrete where the walls had crumbled, an old wastebasket (would that fit in the loader?) some wires, the hardhat and tools and… _Oh!_ Lugging her weapon, Nora trundled up to the big red toolbox she had spotted under a table. _Jackpot!_

She managed to carry the junk gun with one hand, the other straining to lift the toolbox, wishing all the while that she'd taken Nick up on his offer to show her around the weight room at the Sanctuary Hills YMCA. ( _'Eh. Think I'll just take that Pilates class to get back in shape after the baby.'_ ) Arms burning, she wobbled over to the doorway, not quite in line with it, and dropped the toolbox, kicking it open, and as she did Codsworth came bobbing forward, a traffic cone held in his grabber-hand. "This is junk," he offered, helpfully.

"Drop it." She snatched up the first tool from the top of the box (a claw hammer), opened the refuse accelerator's loader, and plopped it in, depressing the weapon's trigger. The accelerator hummed, and she took a deep breath. "New orders! You're going to feed tools from this box into the loader here. We're going to be a team. We're going to save Danse. And we're going to be big, gosh-darn heroes!"

Properly psyched up, she side-stepped into the doorway, instantly drawing the attention of the android swarm. Gleaming skulls and blank, glossy eyes rotated towards her, several laser rifles pivoting. A blast of blue-white light followed, its heat grazing her cheek and her nostrils instantly filling with the stink of burnt hair, and in that moment Nora was fairly certain that her eyes had never been wider in her whole entire life than they were right then.

A lock of smoldering hair drifted down. The trigger released. The junk-launching gun shuddered and thundered and spat out a streak of glinting steel.

 _BAM!_ The hammer spun and struck with a force that would make Thor proud, caving in the robo-skull of one of the androids. The impact sent the 'droid's body tumbling one way and the hammer ricocheting the other. It smashed another skull, flew up into the air, and disappeared somewhere in the darkness of the shaft.

 _Pop fly!_

By then Codsworth had grabbed another tool, and when Nora popped the loader open he dropped it in. Close. Depress. Release. An eight inch slotted screwdriver pierced clean through one of the robot's skulls, leaving a gaping hole and dropping the 'droid.

Another plop, shut, depress, and shoot, quick as she could, and off flew a heavy pipe wrench, severing the weapon-arm of one of the bots that was beating on Danse, then sailing on to cave in the chest of another.

There was a flare of light, somewhere low, and Nora's eyes went wide again, this time from burning pain. A smell rose up that reminded her of some neighbors who were always burning their garbage, plastic included, back when she was a kid. There as a scent like roasting meat, too, but mostly it smelled like burning plastic ( _PLEASE let it mostly be plastic! Vault-Tec, don't fail me now!_ )

The gun-toting robot was raising its weapon higher, for another shot, but before it could fire something shiny came spinning down from the darkness, sticking into the top of the 'droid's head and dropping it face first to the floor. The claw hammer wobbled a bit, embedded in the android's skull, though that wasn't enough to finish it off. Wobbling, the bot tried to rise and aim its rifle again, but Nora got a shot off first, gun thumping and launching a high-velocity tape measure case that clocked the robot's chin and snapped its neck.

Another 'droid took aim, light zipping past Nora's head and kicking up sparks somewhere behind her, then her weapon drove a one inch Philip's screwdriver clean into the bot's forehead. That just made it stumble back, but before it could recover Nora's weapon fired a socket wrench into its torso, folding it like an accordion.

Didn't seem to be anymore laser guns flaring now, but one of the baton-wielding 'droids was racing towards her. Codsworth fed her gun and Nora aimed, squeezed, and released quick as she could, launching a shiny gunmetal-gray loop from the muzzle of her weapon.

A clean shot to the forehead! The roll of duct tape knocked the android back for a second, then the machine shook its head to clear it, faced foreword, and kept charging. (So much for duct tape being good for everything!)

A red-hot glow flared through the android's chest plate and it stumbled, tripped, and dropped before it could reach Nora, smoke rising from its back. On the other side of the basement Danse clutched his rifle close, head swiveling and searching for more targets, but nothing moved. The floor was littered with severed limbs and smashed or burnt android bodies.

Codsworth dropped a little hacksaw into the junk receptacle and closed it himself, but Nora held off on squeezing the trigger. "Whew," she exclaimed, then cringed. Would need to examine that burn on her stomach soon as she could. She walked over towards Danse, and he gave her a weary nod.

Over on the other side of the basement, the elevator dinged, and they both whirled in that direction, laser and junk gun raised and aimed. The elevator doors swished open, and out stepped Petra Van Buran, her pistol spinning on one finger, an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips, and some sort of device with a long antenna clutched in her other hand.

"Got your deep range transmitter-thingy," Petra announced, surveying the basement. "Were a lot of synths up there too. Hm. Think you ran into more, though. Damn. Score one for Team Nora and Paladin Dickhead."

Nora nodded. "Uh. Yeah. Thank goodness for this weaponized refuse accelerator." She tapped her newfound gun. "Came in handy!"

"Weaponized refuse…" Petra's voice trailed off and she shook her head, the cigarette swishing. "Bit of a mouthful, isn't it? Why not just call it a Junk Jet?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The chapter title is a Mass Effect 2 reference, if anyone was wondering.


End file.
